


Hermione's Proposition

by Toodleoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Professors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 49,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toodleoo/pseuds/Toodleoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After overhearing some of her students gossiping about her love life, Hermione decides it's time for a change. She has an offer for Severus Snape that she hopes he can't refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Problem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurette/gifts).
  * Inspired by ["Worth the Wait"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/196240) by Aurette. 



> There's this story by the phenomenal author Aurette called "Worth the Wait." It's brilliant, and everyone should read it. If you haven't read it, go and do so now.
> 
>  
> 
> _I'll wait._
> 
>  
> 
> There. She's a genius, am I right?
> 
> That opening was fantastic, wasn't it?
> 
> This story is a humble tribute to it, something that popped into my head after I read her piece. This first chapter here quotes the opening of her story, but changes things up a bit. From the second chapter on, it becomes entirely my own. (Or as much of "my own" as any fanfiction can be.) If you don't like it, I'm sorry you wasted your time here. Don't blame Aurette. She actually has talent (heaps of it!), whereas I just have... a computer. If you do like this tale, all credit goes to her (and Ms. Rowling) for inspiration. If you don't, it's because I'm pants at this writing business.
> 
> Oh, and if any of you are worried, you should know that Aurette herself knows this is here and told me that she doesn't mind being my source of inspiration.

"Fourteen inches," snapped Imogen Swern, yanking out an empty chair at the library table. "Fourteen inches on the alternate uses for a Banishing Charm?"

"It's going to take hours," Nigel Brimble whinged as he thunked his book down beside her. "Not that it matters what we write, since she'll knock off half the points for commas anyhow."

Professor Hermione Granger stopped dead in her tracks when she overheard some of her best students discussing their latest assignment. Imogen routinely turned in well-written essays, Pip was always one of the first to master a new spell, and Nigel? He might not be able to punctuate his way out of a paper bag, but his tie was neatly tied and his shirt was usually tucked in. From where she was standing a few rows over in the Restricted Section, she was fairly confident they couldn't see her. Just to be safe, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and held still, curiously listening to what they had to say.

"My cousin Celestia was a third year when she was a sixth year," sympathized Pip Ditton, "and she said Granger spent all her free hours in the library. Said she even skipped Hogsmeade weekends to revise."

"Can you blame her? Who in their right mind would take Granger out?" Brimble asked. "She doesn't know how to have any fun." He rolled up the sleeves of his robes in the same way she did during lessons and stood up an inch or two straighter. Then he changed his voice to mimic hers. "15 points from Hufflepuff for laughing out of turn! 20 points from Ravenclaw for attempting to snog a prefect!"

The others snickered.

"Ugh," Brimble grumbled. "I bet she expects us to live in here just like she did when she was a student."

"I bet she lays in bed at night and humps textbooks," Swern challenged him, giggling.

"Why not? It's not like she has a _man_ in her bed."

"Never?" the girl asked. "Do you think she's _ever_ had one?"

"Everybody talks about how she kissed Ronald Weasley at the Battle of Hogwarts," Brimble offered.

"Yeah, and he up and married someone else. Can you imagine anything more embarrassing? I would die. I would just roll over and die."

"Didn't Viktor Krum take her out?"

"To the Yule Ball? I bet he was forced to by his headmaster. You know, to be polite. That doesn't count."

"Nah, that probably makes it even worse," Ditton piped up. "A big Quidditch star takes you out once and your love life is over when you're fifteen."

"It's sad is what it is. She was a somebody for five minutes forever ago and now she's a nobody again."

"She didn't even really do anything. She followed Potter around and cooked for him while he saved the world. Big deal."

 _Did they really believe that?_ she wondered. Hermione knew that if she were to drop the charm and march around the corner, her rude little cretins would shut their traps and backpedal within an inch of their lives. She knew that students said horrible things about their professors all the time, but it was usually about one of the others—not about _her_. Even when they had grumbled about her, it was never this personal. She kept listening to their conversation, unable to pull herself away as though it were an accident on the motorway.

"My mum says he's going to be the next Minister for Magic, you know."

"His wife's fit," Ditton added. "I saw her playing last year. You should see her covered in sweat."

"You're a pig," Swern spat.

"I'm just saying," Ditton retorted, "Potter made the right choice. Granger's frigid, she is."

"Gah! Could you imagine it? Picking her over Ginny Potter? He's not blind, even if he is her friend."

"Granger's knickers are probably made of iron anyway. Made of iron and locked up tight, even for the great Harry Potter."

"Ewwwww! I don't want to think about Granger's knickers. _Ever_."

The laughter of the three Gryffindor students abruptly cut off as their Potions professor stepped around the shelf.

"Thirty points each and a week's detentions, the three of you. Report to Mr. Filch immediately."

"For what?" said Swern.

"For _what_? I heard your little conversation, young lady!"

"We have a right to our own opinions! We were just expressing ourselves in private."

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "The library is hardly private, and it is against school rules to be openly disrespectful of a member of the staff, never mind your own Head of House. Now, get out of my sight, or I will personally oversee your detentions. I assure you, you do not want me to handle your punishment."

He stood there with his arms folded as the three bundled up their books and headed off, glaring at their backs as they headed out the door.

It was then that he noticed the object of their conversation twenty feet away, her Disillusionment Charm slipping and her face, pinched and pale. She had always been incredibly expressive, even when she didn't want to be, and her discomfort was palpable now as she fought back tears.

Out of all the other professors at Hogwarts, why did it have to be _him_ here? He was finally treating her like an adult rather than the annoying student from his classroom. Why did he have to be the one to see her like this?

"Granger?" He looked her over from head to toe. "Snap out of it. Those little maggots say the same and worse about me on an hourly basis."

She turned her head to him slowly. Why was he still standing there?

She didn't trust herself to say anything without bursting into tears, so she snatched her satchel from the floor, turned on her heel, and bolted. She could feel him watching her until she was out of sight.

The strange thing was, she usually wasn't bothered by the juvenile comments her students made. She always told herself that she was strong, that nothing bothered her and that she was indestructible.

It had been a long time since she had felt so small.


	2. The Proposition

In the days that followed, Hermione tried to pick herself up and go back to life as usual. If she was acting a little more polite than usual to her three delinquents—just to shove it in their ungrateful faces—nobody ever mentioned it. _Let them stew in their guilt. They didn't know that she had heard the whole thing_. And if she took the time to learn from Filch exactly how many hours they spent cleaning the loos in the Quidditch locker rooms with toothbrushes, well, nobody could find fault with the way that she followed up on her students' character formation, could they?

After some time with her niggling thoughts and doubts, Hermione sat herself down with her journal, a few new quills, and the determination to discover why their insults had cut her so deeply. They were children, after all, just thoughtless children who just needed to gripe about their homework before sitting down to do their work. If she hadn't been there, they would likely have dug around in the library for the books they needed and written their essays, no questions asked. She would never have been any the wiser, and she wouldn't be here second guessing herself now.

Curled up in her pillow-bedecked reading nook with a steaming pot of Lady Grey and an open bag of crisps, Hermione mulled over their words. They'd started off innocently enough, just whinging about their latest essay. _That was fine_. It didn't bother her that they thought she asked a lot from them in Charms class or that she expected them to put in the hours they needed to as students. She knew that she was strict and fair, and she was proud of her reputation as a demanding teacher. Let Sybil be the professor who flounced into their lives with dream charts and color readings, Hermione would be the young battle-axe taking up the helm of Minerva McGonagall. She'd never be able to pull off a reign of terror like Severus Snape, but she thought she performed admirably nevertheless.

And it didn't bother her that they thought Ginny was prettier than she was. Hermione loved her like a sister and knew that Harry's glamorous wife was more put together than she herself would ever be. Ginny Potter was a celebrity in her own right these days, a star Chaser for the Kenmare Somebody-or-Others and the author of a story or two for the Daily Prophet. If you were to stop 10 men in Diagon Alley and asked them to choose between Ginny and Hermione herself, 9 would pick Ginny. Maybe all 10. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder like some subjectively quantified entity, but life had taught Hermione otherwise. Besides, she'd trained herself as a student to separate her professors off from other people with an appropriate distance, and now that she was a professor herself, she expected the same from her students. They weren't supposed to think of her as a woman, nor did she want them to. She was their professor, not their friend.

Those little buggers had hit closer to home with their remarks about Ron. It _had_ been embarrassing when he'd ended up with Lavender Brown instead of her. Not that she wanted him— _she didn't, she really didn't—_ but the perpetual pity she received from total strangers was wearying, to say the least. It had taken her and Ron a mere three weeks of dating to realize that it would never work between them and another three weeks for Lavender to worm her way back into Ron's life, but Hermione was still receiving sympathetic letters from sweet old biddies a decade after the war and the very public breakup. Why, she'd opened one package of homemade fudge just last month to learn that Felicity Plaskitt of Bristol owned four cats and still believed that Ronald Weasley was a scoundrel of the highest order. Would she like some choccie treats and one of Fluffy's next litter of kittens?

Not wanting to tempt fate, she passed on the cats. The fudge was delicious.

No, she relished the freedom that came with being single. Watching Harry and Ginny sort out where to live and when to work with the kids, she knew there were compromises that came from being part of a couple she was glad she didn't have to make. When she wanted to take off for a weekend vacation, she bought her ticket to Cyprus and packed her bags. When she wanted to change jobs, she signed the contract without consulting anyone first. When she wanted something sweet to nibble on at midnight, she walked straight to the kitchen and requested some banoffee pie.

If she were brutally honest with herself, it was the comment about her love life taking a nose dive after Viktor that hit the hardest.

Because it was _right on the money_.

Viktor Krum was the last man ( _boy_ , she corrected herself internally) who wanted her and sought her out, who fought for her company and attention. He was also the first boy to kiss her and he was the first one to try to sneak his hands under her shirt. She'd swatted them away at the time, shy and inexperienced as she was.

Little did she know then, he would also be the last.

Had she known, would she have stopped him?

At twenty-nine, Hermione Granger was still as inexperienced as she was at fifteen.

She was significantly less shy now, and had a better picture of what she wanted. It wasn't Viktor anymore and it certainly wasn't Ron. Truth be told, there wasn't anyone that she had in mind, no secret passion that she'd been harboring for Neville or— _Merlin forbid_ —Malfoy. There was a part of her that wondered what she was missing out on, someone to cuddle up with under a blanket on a rainy day or snog the life out of during those few days leading up to that time of the month when all men suddenly looked quite appealing. Someone to curl up with in bed when she wasn't feeling well or look out for her when she was too tired to look after herself anymore. Someone who would let her take care of him.

As a result, relationships were foreign to her. Sex was, too.

Maybe she had let work consume her, or maybe she just wasn't very good at being a woman.

Hermione Granger disliked not knowing things, but what irked her more than anything was not knowing something that everyone else on the planet knew about. Although getting into a a long-term relationship seemed like a lot of work, a merely physical encounter shouldn't be too difficult to procure, should it? She'd always thought that men weren't particularly discriminating when it came to sex. As long as she was safe and respected, she found that her curiosity to experience it just once was finally strong enough to prompt her to do something about it.

She considered her options, made a few lists to help her make a decision, and formulated a plan.

:

"I have a proposition for you," she said, standing outside his door late one evening.

Severus Snape stood in the door frame, blocking her entrance with arm folded across his chest. "Of what nature, pray tell, Granger?"

"Let's call it a scientific nature."

"If I'm correcting an article you wrote, I want a credit as a second author." He stopped, thought about her last piece on experimental wand movements, and reconsidered. "Unless I find that your work is utter shite, in which case, you can keep my name off your little achievement of the month."

"It's not an article." She could feel the warmth of a spotty flush starting to creep up her neck.

"What, then?"

"You were there last week when..." Her voice trailed off, not wanting to recall the incident with her students.

"When _what_?" he prompted her. "Complete sentences, Granger."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, paused, and snapped it shut again. Then she glanced up and down the empty corridor before leaning in closer. "May I come in?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Please? This isn't the kind of thing I want to be overheard."

He sighed a bit more loudly than he needed to, then took a step back and gestured for her to enter his quarters.

"Thank you for your time, Severus." She waited in the entryway until he led her to a battered leather wingback beside the fire. She took off her teaching robe, folded it neatly, and draped it over the back of the chair before making herself comfortable in the cozy chair.

He took the matching chair beside it. "Go on, then."

She started giving herself the pep talk that she'd prepared in her rooms. She could do this. She really could. Her eyes darted about the room, settling on a bottle of Ogden's tucked away on a corner table.

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked.

She nodded furiously, relieved that he was good at reading people. Perhaps she wouldn't have to say the words aloud if he could just read her mind.

He looked intrigued.

He stood again, walked over to grab the firewhisky and a pair of glasses, and poured two stiff drinks. Returning to her side, he pressed a glass into her hand and watched her sip her drink daintily before taking his seat again.

"I wanted to thank you for stepping in and diffusing that situation in the library the other day."

He was decidedly uncomfortable, staring at the flickering flames rather than at her. "There's no need."

"I really think there is, Severus."

He took a swig of his whisky and smirked. "Granger, I know you want them all to be angels, but I like it when they act like the imbeciles that they're rapidly growing up to become." He raised his glass. "I get to exercise my flagging disciplinary skills and Filch gets to exercise his creativity."

Hermione smiled. He was acting almost friendly. She could _do_ this. "I don't know why I didn't stop them sooner." Her words came quickly now as she tried to lay out her big idea for him to consider. She decided that she couldn't look at him or she'd lose her nerve, so most of her speech was delivered to the half-empty glass in her hands. "I've come to the conclusion that there was an element of truth in what they were talking about. Not all of it, certainly, but they were right about one thing. And I think you probably don't know what that one thing is, but even if you do, you'd never say anything about it. At least not to me. Or maybe you would say something? But probably not. You're too much of a gentleman to say anything about—"

He snorted into his drink.

"And now I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Mindlessly, yes, and grasping for words," he drawled, but there was no bite to it. He looked over at her, a rare spark in his fathomless eyes. "I am no gentleman."

She coughed a few times and laughed awkwardly, downing the rest of her drink in one. "Good." Then she slammed the empty glass on the table. "To get back to my proposal. I think the best course of action is to take matters into my own hands. Well, not my hands, per se, since I already do that now—Oh, Merlin, I can't believe I just said that! Please disregard that! So I need to do something. Take something into my—Not my own hands, but someone else's. Place something into someone's—someone else's, if you know what I mean."

She looked up at him, waiting for an answer to a question that she hadn't realized she hadn't asked.

He looked terribly confused.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well _what_?" he said. "I already asked for complete sentences. What on earth are you talking about?"

She needed to start over. _She could do this_. "I propose that we _mrblsksh_."

"Pardon me?" He leaned forward. "I didn't catch that last bit. You propose that we what?"

She coughed again. "I propose that we have... sex."

His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open just a tick.

"Together."

Still, he didn't say a word.

He didn't even blink.

_She had broken Severus Snape._

Then he snapped out of it. He shook his head. "No."

"What?"

"I said 'no,' Granger."

 _That_ was unexpected. She knew she wasn't the prettiest or thinnest woman in England, but she _was_ the only woman under seventy at Hogwarts. Hermione didn't know much about Severus' love life, but she didn't think he was seeing anyone. If he was, he was incredibly discrete. Wouldn't he welcome her offer? Merlin, she was mortified. She needed to leave right away.

"Okay." She stood up, fumbling about as she set her empty glass on the mantle above the fire.

But perhaps he refused because he misunderstood? Maybe he thought she was asking for a relationship, an emotionally overwrought, sticky companionship that would complicate their working together? She wasn't. She needed to clarify, and then he would surely accept.

She turned around and waited until he locked eyes with her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is my fault. I don't think I was clear about this, but you should know that I'm not asking for a date, Severus."

"No, I understood," he said, not skipping a beat. "My answer is the same."

It was like a punch to the gut.

"Oh." So it wasn't some sort of fear of relationships on his part, or the feeling like he had to take her out for dinner at some posh restaurant. He just didn't want her. She forced a smile on her face. Was she really _that_ undesirable?

She plucked her robes off the back of the chair and headed towards the door. Each step grew heavier until she found herself at his door. One question loomed in her mind, and she had to say something before she left. She didn't have quite enough courage to turn around and face him again, but she did have enough to ask him one final question.

"Why not?"

 


	3. The Explanation

Was she too young for his taste? That seemed unlikely. What man alive turned down a willing woman umpteen years his junior? Maybe she wasn't red-haired and willowy enough. If Lily Potter was his ideal, she would never get anywhere with the man. That is, unless he woke up one morning preferring scrubby brunettes to Titian goddesses, and suddenly found that he was inexplicably drawn to "average" over "stunning."

Bugger. On the Lily issue... Had he even taken a woman out since the end of the war? Maybe he was dedicating his celibacy to her memory and had sworn off women altogether. He was a man of such extremes. She admired his savage sense of right and wrong. Committing himself to a lifetime without love or affection would not be outside the realm of possibility where Severus Snape was concerned.

Groaning, she hit her head against the door.

Her enthusiastic outbursts at the Head Table drove him batty, too. She knew that. She could tell from the way he watched her with a looked of stunned disbelief when she went on a rant against the Ministry or the Daily Prophet or the Royal family or the UN or the long practice hours put in by the Quidditch house teams.

Anticipation and dread hung over Hermione while she waited for his response. Thankfully, she wasn't put on hold for long.

"Why not?" Snape was gruff and abrupt. "We work together, Granger."

She whipped around to face him.

"So?" she asked. There wasn't anything in the faculty handbook about dating coworkers. When she first arrived to teach two years ago, she'd heard all the rumors about Madam Hooch's conquests. Peeves had been quite delighted to share a set of lurid tales with her now that she had returned to Hogwarts as an adult. Adventures in the Forbidden Forest, eye-opening uses for Petrificus Totalus that she'd never learnt as a firstie, acrobatic maneuvers on a broom... She'd stopped the poltergeist before he started naming names, but if even half the gossip about Hooch was true, the Quidditch instructor had left quite a legacy of satisfied fliers in her wake.

She advanced on him slowly.

He sounded impatient from the other side of the room. "How am I supposed to pretend to listen to your inane chatter in faculty meetings if I'm thinking about your arse or trying to picture you naked?"

Hermione smiled. She could work with this.

Snape continued on with his reasoning.

"Granger, I know you haven't been here long, but that rule is fairly universal. I would say that 'No rumpy-pumpy with one's colleagues' _is_ , in fact, a cardinal rule in life."

She sank back down in the leather chair, processing what he had to say. Surely he had at least heard about Rolanda's affairs. Was it possible that he hadn't been subject to Peeves' stories? He had been here when most of them happened. Either way, Severus obviously wasn't one of the notches on her broomstick, or he wouldn't be so closed off to the subject _._ Maybe he was a bit of a prude, or was he simply olf-fashioned? Hermione pulled her feet up underneath her and nestled into the worn leather, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the spark of conversation. "I have it on good authority that at least one of our colleagues takes a much looser approach to that rule than you think."

Startled, he nearly choked on his whisky. "What kind of authority, Granger? Authority implies firsthand knowle _—_ "

"No, no!" she interrupted. "No firsthand knowledge here. Didn't we establish that already? I'm woefully lacking in firsthand anything. That's why I asked you for..." Her voice trailed off before she regained her focus. "That's why I asked you what I asked you. Clearly 'authority' is too strong a word. But I've heard plenty about _—"_

"Do stop, Granger."

"Because Peeves said _—"_

"Granger!"

"And if Mada _—"_

A quick flick of his wrist, and her voice was gone.

Hermione was impressed, if annoyed. Wordless, wandless magic was challenging for the most powerful and experienced, and yet Severus knew how to do it with ease. Not that she was surprised. The longer she worked with him, the more she learned of his obscure skills and accomplishments. Who else spoke Korean and Esperanto fluently, or brewed his own ale? Not to mention the flying ability. His depth of knowledge was #3 on her meticulously itemized list of Reasons to Convince Severus Snape for a Proper Shag.

His lip curled. "There is no bone in my body that wishes to hear you complete that sentence. Good heavens, Granger, what kinds of sordid things do you think go on here?"

She shouted _—noiselessly, thanks to him—_ and gesticulated wildly as she leapt to her feet, frustrated that she was getting nowhere.

"What was that?" he asked, smirking. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

She glared at him.

"I will release you if you agree to never speak of Hooch's libidinous journey through life ever again."

She narrowed her eyes and nodded grudgingly.

Another flick, and she felt a rush of warmth flow through her throat.

"Silence me again, Severus," she said, leaning over to poke his chest, "and I'll let it slip to my class that you knit sweaters for rescue penguins in the Tasman Sea."

"Idle threats. They'd never believe you." He brushed her hand away and poured himself another finger of whisky.

He spoke quietly, but remained resolute. "We work together, Granger. Cardinal rules."

"Is that really the only reason?"

"It's the only one I need," he insisted.

"Well, this is a fine time for your antiquated notions of honor to show up," she blurted out, dropping back into her seat. She never thought she'd have to fight so hard for a little hanky panky, and she hadn't fully thought out a thorough argument in advance. She couldn't give it away. If only she had prepared for this more carefully. "Even if you ignore what has gone on here at Hogwarts, I think if you'll consult the headlines about certain members of Parliament or other film stars, nobody thinks much of that as a cardinal rule these days."

"So we should all do as others do, is that your new motto?" He raised his glass to her. "I'm glad to see your moral compass has stopped functioning entirely, Granger."

"I have a moral compass!" she bellowed. Then she checked herself and spoke soberly. "At least I try to _—"_ She sighed. _"_ I know I'm no saint. After everything we've been through, arbitrary social rules hold very little value to me. I'm not going to do something just because it's expected. It's all the more reason to seize the day and take what you want."

"And you want… me?" He sounded doubtful.

She rolled her eyes. Hadn't she just asked him into her bed? Men were so thick sometimes. And Molly wondered why she didn't invest more time in dating.

He shook his head again. "Granger, there are lines one simply does not cross."

"I agree with you, Severus." Holding out her hand, she counted the reasons off on her fingers. "Married people or those in a committed relationship? That's off the table."

"Ah, now I see."

She frowned. "See what?"

"Why you didn't go to Professor Davies."

"Roger?" Hermione had forgotten about the handsome Astronomy instructor. He was perfect and boring, like a plastic doll. "What's his wife's name again? Kimberly? Tiffany?"

"Longbottom?"

"That's a ludicrous name for a woman." Hermione smiled smugly at her own joke and waggled her eyebrows. "Mrs. Longbottom Davies, oh my."

He groaned. "Yes, Granger, you're hilarious. Shall I ask one of the house-elves to fetch you a congratulatory piece of cake?"

"No," she grumbled. "Honestly, Severus, you needn't be so tetchy."

"Why not Longbottom?"

"Neville is… Well, he's Neville." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "He's sweet and thoughtful and charming in an affably dopey sort of way, but he's like a brother to me. I could never envision him as a potential bedmate after chasing his frog all around the common room as a twelve-year-old. Besides, he's dating Hannah now."

"In a relationship and off limits," he said. "Flitwick, then?"

"He's my boss!" she cried, incredulous. "No. It's a balance of power issue."

"Filch?" he needled, enjoying her growing unease.

"I'm going to pretend you never said that," she said. She was fairly certain that Severus was teasing her, and she was positive she liked it. She could add this to the bottom of the Reasons to Shag Snape list when she returned to her quarters. It would be #24. "The man's older than my grandfather."

"Too old." A terrible grin spread across his features. "Hagrid."

Hermione started laughing like a loon. "No, no, no! First, you'd have to consider physical compatibility, which seems unlikely if not _completely impossible and highly hazardous to my health._ No. Would I ever be able to walk again?" She winced just thinking about it. "Secondly, Hagrid is also significantly older than me and interested in different things. What would we talk about?"

"And here I thought you were only in this for carnal knowledge. When did conversation become a part of your proposition?"

She frowned. "I never said that I wouldn't want to talk with you. I always enjoy talking to you, even when you're telling me my research is rubbish or that I need to discipline my students more." His verbosity was #5 on the shag list. She pursed her lips, displeased with the direction this was leading. "Who would you rather I go to, hmm?"

"I am merely finding out where I feature in all of this," he said.

And something in the air shifted.

 _He_ changed.

His outward demeanor was calm, but she could sense his defensive nature, a kind of aggression just beneath the surface. "It appears that you have singled me out for this dubious distinction because I am, quite literally, the only living, breathing, unattached male of your acquaintance who is neither your boss nor too old for you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

A pang of guilt flooded her chest, suffocating her as she realized how he had interpreted everything.

_That he saw himself as the her last option rather than her first choice._

Oh, bugger.

She had bungled this up more badly than she thought possible. She leaned forward to reach for his hand. "It isn't like that, Se _—_ "

"Why not Madame Hooch?" he asked, ignoring her words and pulling away. He sat up noticeably straighter in his chair and stared at the fire. Then he barked out a hollow laugh. "If the stories are true, you would be in for the ride of your life."

:

They didn't talk much after that.

The house-elves had come around with a pot of chamomile for the two to share while he trounced her in a round of blitz chess. They usually managed some level of small talk, even if it was just him hissing at her to focus or think through her moves. He would relate the latest explosions in his classroom and go on a diatribe about the thoughtlessness of teenagers, and she would insist that he cut them some slack and give them room to learn from their mistakes.

It had always been comfortable before.

But his time, both were silent, thoughts elsewhere.

On one level, she was pleased with his answer. At least he wasn't refusing her proposition because of who she was or what she looked like. No, he was turning her down because of something entirely unrelated to the slight pudge of her belly or her tendency to nag people who disagreed with her into submission. She could accept that, even if it didn't solve her current dilemma.

It was distracting, watching his beautiful hands move pieces across the board. The confident hands of Severus Snape? #8 on the list.

She could feel him growing more sullen and withdrawn as the game progressed, a reminder of the fact that she'd hurt him somehow by her explanation of why she'd chosen him. Whatever else happened, she knew she had to do something to make amends. She just wasn't sure what.

The game was over in less than a half hour. He cleared the teapot and cups back to his tiny kitchen, and she followed after him with all the other tea things. They went through all the motions as they usually did when they had a chess night, but she couldn't help but notice that he wouldn't look at her. Not directly, anyhow.

When she left him at his door, she wished him a good night and, feeling emboldened, stood on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Hermione headed back to her quarters, tired and dissatisfied.

 

 

 


	4. The First Attempt

Hermione was a goal-oriented woman.

Always had been, always would be. Harry and Ron had teased her about her fastidious nature when they were schoolchildren together—they'd laughed at her revision schedules, her to-do lists, and the color-coded sticky notes she used to organize her essays. It was, however, all of these things that kept Hermione focussed and enabled her to succeed. She simply worked better when she was working towards something.

Now she had two concrete somethings before her.

The first one was to convince Severus Snape that she did not consider him to be the least of all possible evils.

 _Stupid, stupid man_. Why on earth would he even think that? He was a war hero. He was reasonably fit, if the cut of his robes was any indication as to the body underneath. He was brilliant to the point where most people probably didn't even the capacity to appreciate his intelligence. The sharpness of his mind? That was #4 on the Reasons to Shag Snape list. No, Hermione granted, he wasn't handsome, and no, he wasn't rich... or friendly, or good with children, or the kind of person you'd want to bring home to mum and dad, or nice at all, really, but...

But he was intriguing.

And compelling. To anyone with a brain, that is. And his black sense of humor and cutting wit were rather fun to observe as long as they were directed at someone else. When it came to what mattered, she trusted him as though he were Harry. (Not that she would tell Snape that, not unless she wanted to watch that vein above his left eye start to twitch.) She thought about showing him the list she'd come up with of reasons to shag him, but reconsidered after about two and a half seconds. If past experience was anything to go by, he'd either laugh her out of the room or think she was taking the piss, mocking him behind his back. That was one big downside to Snape: there was no way to win with the man.

The second task was to get him into her bed.

Before she had gone to Severus with what she still considered a brilliant proposition, she had temporarily kicked around the notion of approaching a charming Muggle in Kensington Gardens or some such locale. She would waltz up to a well-dressed, ringless bloke feeding the ducks by his lonesome at the Round Pond, put her hand on his arm, and convince him that he needed to come around to her place for drinks later. She'd tell him her name was... Enid... or Cate, a name that sounded intriguing and sophisticated without being pretentious or unpronounceable, and after having a bit of fun, she'd send him on his merry way. But that only worked in her imagination. In reality, she just didn't think she had it in her to approach a total stranger for a good, old-fashioned shag.

Someone she already knew seemed like a much better plan, and Severus was the first person who popped to mind. Her ideal was somebody she was comfortable with, but who wasn't likely to read to much into the arrangement. She'd thought of him right away, but then, wondering if there wasn't someone a bit more suitable or closer to her own age, tried to consider other options.

 _Charlie Weasley, on his next visit to England?_ Maybe. Although, would another Weasley be complicated after Ron? Hmm. Maybe not.

 _Viktor?_ He'd been enthusiastic to get under her clothes once before, and perhaps he'd want another crack at her.

 _Corm_ —No, no, no. She nipped that one in the bud before it even started. An odious bastard, if ever there was one.

For every other man who came to mind, Hermione came up with a half dozen reasons ruling him out. Ultimately, she just kept returning to Severus.

The man had lived a double life for decades. He had clearly mastered the ability to compartmentalize, which was a big plus for this type of casual arrangement. That alone should override any of his concerns about their working together.

More than that, she had no idea how much affection he'd been shown in his life, but it didn't seem like much. Nothing before the war, certainly, although she couldn't speak to his private life in the last decade. There was a part of her that simply wanted Severus to be cuddled and fussed over for a change, and if it had to be her to do it, well, she would take one for the team and do what needed to be done. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger lacked in altruism. Or self-interest, when the two coincided. She would get this pesky virginity business taken care of by someone she trusted, and he would enjoy himself, too. Hopefully.

If anyone deserved a happily ever after, it was Snape. Not that she presumed to be the one and only source of his happiness, but he seemed to enjoy her company and conversation. Wouldn't he also enjoy her breasts? Wouldn't he like to be caressed and kissed, even if it was by a woman who sometimes drove him batty?

She wasn't the most beautiful woman on the planet, but her body was more than presentable and her tits had been ogled by many a strange man on the tube.

Whatever else happened, she wasn't going to force herself on Severus if he really didn't want her.

It just seemed that perhaps... he did want her, at least a little bit. He'd predicted his inability to focus on work if he saw her naked, so maybe he had already entertained less-than-professional thoughts of her. Hermione was of two minds on this issue. On the one hand, he told her that he'd never consider her as a woman because she was his colleague. She wanted to accept his words at face value because she wanted to believe whatever he told her. But should she? Severus was the kind of man whose words meant three different things at the same time. On the other hand, he'd sort of blushed and hesitated, seeming even more prickly than usual as he turned her down. After all, there wasn't exactly a line of suitors beating down her door to get into her knickers.

What if was interested? She wanted it to be more than wishful thinking on her part. Knowing she needed to test her theory, she decided to wait it out for a while. The issue was too fresh and raw to pick at right away.

:

Three weeks had gone by, and not a word was spoken by either of them on the subject.

She told herself that she was lulling him into a false sense of security before she would strike again. Of course, the fact that he was still avoiding her indicated that he felt anything but secure.

They fell back into a kind of superficial camaraderie, belittling the government over morning tea and arguing over all of Headmaster Flitwick's curricula choices in staff meetings, but something was off. Every conversation was stilted, Severus was just a little too polite, and Hermione knew that he was avoiding any time alone with her. Their chess nights had ceased completely. Anytime he spoke to her, at least one other person was present. Even when they chatted over meals, Severus couldn't quite look her in the eye.

For his part, it seemed clear that he was trying to pretend as though the whole thing had never happened. He had been so stunned by her proposal. As much as she took a perverse sort of pleasure in rattling the unflappable Severus Snape, she knew that something needed to change.

:

Then one rainy Saturday, Madame Pince closed down the library to students. All the professors were to look over their subject holdings, clean out the useless holdings to another room in the castle, and make more room for new acquisitions.

When Hermione began culling the Charms section, there was nobody else in sight. She took advantage of the empty space, peeling off her outer robes. The room was a bit stuffy despite the onset of autumn. She was left in a pair of trousers and a fitted sweater with about a half dozen quills tucked into the messy bun of hair atop her head. It was nearing three solid hours of cataloging fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Charms manuals 'for Magickeful Young Ladyes', and she was getting ready to call it a night.

Just as she was about to pack up her things, Hermione heard someone else joining her in the cavernous space. Familiar-sounding hard-soled shoes echoed down the length of the open hall. _His_ shoes. She decided to stay and push her luck. When she looked up, there he was, dressed in his usual black. Was she imagining that look of mild panic in his eyes?

He faltered for a minute, nodded to her, and walked over to the Potions section of the library.

Hermione spent a few minutes rearranging stacks of books. Ostensibly, she was sorting them into piles for the library to keep or toss out. In reality, she was still deciding what to say to Severus. She was waffling between the subtle approach and a more direct tactic. Grabbing her wand, she whispered the incantation to lock the doors. Then she roamed over to his piles of books, boldly leaning up against a heavy wooden desk.

"Wouldn't this be the perfect height for a quick shag?" she asked him, demurely running her hand over the smooth surface.

Direct it was.

All the blood left his cheeks as he slowly turned to face her.

"I'll just hop up here," she said, hoisting herself up onto the high ledge, "and you can have at me."

"Professor Granger!" he hissed, glancing to his left and to his right. "Schoolchildren read and write on these tables. Consider what you're suggesting and behave with a modicum of decorum."

"Oh, pish," she said, smiling to herself at his prudish words. In his manners, he was an odd mixture of contradictions, volleying between a priggish, old-fashioned politeness and a rude, blunt demeanor. Hermione enjoyed the paradox. "I would never say such a thing if any of our little darlings were in here. It's just you and me now, Severus."

"Granger," he growled quietly, a note of warning in his resonant voice.

"Or maybe this isn't the right height?" she asked, looking down to the ground, mentally comparing her current elevation to the Severus' corresponding bits. "You know, it might be an inch or two too tall." She beckoned him over, reaching out with open arms in invitation. "Come over here and let's test it out."

"Granger," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm giving you the chance to change your mind," she said, optimism thrumming through her body.

"Obstinate, insufferable woman." He had muttered to himself, but Hermione could just make out the words. Then he spoke up, a note of command in his voice. "Come down from there this minute."

She sighed and dropped her arms. "Would you at least help me down?"

He walked over to her side, but when he was close enough to reach her, he stopped. He leaned in a bit closer and looked up at her. "No."

"No?" She tried batting her eyelashes to give off an impression of innocence, but by the look on his face, she knew she was failing miserably.

"By now, I know better than to trust you when you're in a state," he said, looking at her askance. He turned around and started walking away. He called over his shoulder, "Now move your bloody arse."

"All right, all right," she grumbled, disappointed at his refusal. Perhaps the direct approach was not the wisest course of action. Clumsily sliding to the ground, she landed in an awkward heap and tipped over onto the stone floor.

Guilt sent him running in her direction. He grabbed her wrists and roughly helped her to her feet, shaking his head. "That was, what, twenty centimeters to the ground? I'm astonished you can walk, athletic wonder that you are."

"Thank you!" she agreed, her words emphatic. She dusted off her backside and righted her twisted sweater. Laughing it off, she smiled at him. "I try to explain this to Ron and Harry when they badger me about flying, but they don't believe me. They're still convinced that I'm teachable. I think I would kill some innocent bystander if they forced me onto a broom."

"Your complete lack of physical coordination does you no favors in this debate, Granger." He leaned back against a card catalog, pinching the bridge of his nose with long fingers. "How do I know I won't be the bystander you accidentally slaughter if I take you to bed?"

Her eyes grew wide. It sounded like he was actually considering it.

Her mind wandered as she considered the possibilities of whatever injury he was imagining. "Could I really kill a man that way?" She'd read a newspaper article once on older gentlemen having heart attacks in the throes of passion. _Their poor lovers_ , she thought. That would more be enough to scar a person for life and put them off sex forever. Then she frowned, drumming her fingertips on her chin. "I can't see that happening with us, can you? I wouldn't have my wand on me, so there would be no accidental misfirings. I wouldn't be levitating above you, so—"

She cut herself off abruptly.

"What, Granger?"

" _Could_ one levitate? I didn't even think about that." Hermione knew the basics about the birds and bees from that awkward chat with her mum at age ten. Although she had extensively researched women's health issues on her own as she grew up, she had done it through the local library in Exeter near her parent's home. She'd never considered that the art of lovemaking might be different for her as a witch. She looked up at him, certain he would be straight with her even if he wasn't quite meeting her eyes. "Is sex in the Wizarding world different than for Muggles, Severus?"

"Sex is... Well, sex is sex, I believe," he said gruffly. In a single swift gesture, he pulled out a chair, twirled it around, and dropped into it. "You do realize the absurdity of this conversation, don't you?"

"Why?" She followed his lead with significantly less grace, sitting down beside him in the solid library chairs. "It is perfectly acceptable for friends to ask each other things when they don't know the answer."

"Friends," he repeated quietly.

"Yes, aren't we?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

"I feel like you've been avoiding me lately," she said. "How will my chess game ever improve if you won't play with me?"

"Yes, well..." His voice trailed off. A moment passed between them, and then he cocked his head to look at her. "Would you care to explain how you can blithely offer yourself to me on a library desk today? Less than a month ago, you couldn't utter the word 'sex' without stammering."

Bugger. She'd hoped he hadn't noticed. "Er..."

"Yes, Granger?"

"First off, I'd like to point out that I didn't have a problem with the word 'sex.' I had a problem asking you for it, since I'd never done that before. It's easy to discuss these things in a sort of clinical light." Testing his comfort zone, she grinned at him and proceeded to demonstrate. "I can tell you all about sex and vaginas and breasts and clitorises—or is the plural of that clitori? I'll need to look that up—"

"Focus, Granger."

"I digress."

"Constantly."

"Yes, well..." Hermione felt sufficiently chastised. She massaged the back of her neck. "It's a different thing to talk about your own bits and bobs, and it's a very different thing to talk about what you're doing with them."

"Or not doing with them, as the case may be."

"There _is_ that." She swallowed hard. "I may have... practiced."

He looked at her quizzically. "And how, pray tell, does one practice this sort of thing?"

Her cheeks grew warm.

"Did you, for example," he inquired, "ask a"—he scanned the room, mirth in his eyes—"a floor lamp for a spot of sexual congress?"

She bit her tongue and waited for his wit to dry up.

"No?"

She held his gaze, determined to hold her ground.

"No, the lamp might kiss and tell," he stated dramatically. He shook him head in mock solemnity. "That would never do." He looked around again, his eyes settling on an oversized wooden coat rack in the corner behind Madame Pince's desk. He nodded in its direction. "Perhaps you asked that tall fellow for a fuck, hmm?"

"Are you finished here?" she asked, arms folded beneath her breasts.

"Let's say that I am," he stated. "Good God, Granger, do I want to know how you prepared yourself for this little display?"

She considered not telling him. That's what she would have done with Ron, just to push his buttons. Of course, Severus' buttons were quite different. She allowed her gaze to wander down the neat row of black buttons that adorned his slender chest. Staring at his feet, she mumbled out the words. "I have a few friendly portraits in my quarters, you see. There's an French astronomer in one, and he's been quite accommodating."

"You practiced on a portrait?"

"He was very kind." Hermione smoothed out her hair and tucked it behind her ears. "A bit too kind, actually. He acquiesced far too quickly each time I asked him for a kiss. I had to wheedle him into putting up more of a fight so that he sounded like you."

He barked out a laugh. "Did you finally convince him to refuse you?"

She grinned. "I did."

"Well, then," he said, straightening up and pushing his chair back under the library desk. "You have your answer, haven't you?"

Although he had refused her proposal for now, Hermione was a patient woman. Obstinate and insufferable, he'd called her.

She was determined to show Severus Snape just how stubborn she could be.


	5. The Second Attempt

"Check." Hermione was bursting with delight as she moved her bishop into position. It was a rare night when she made it this far in a game with him. Although she hadn't beaten him yet, she was inching closer and closer to a win.

She was relieved that she had been able to badger him back into resuming their weekly chess nights. He was, after all, an integral part her schedule of friends and coworkers. On Sunday afternoons, she and Neville puttered around in the spare greenhouses or talked over their lesson plans with one another in a sort of new teacher solidarity. Sometimes they cooked dinner together, if by "together," one meant "he prepared something delicious and she washed the dishes." Thursday evenings were medical training sessions with Poppy. Hermione had asked to learn the basics of Healing in the hopes of developing medical charms someday. It was into Hogsmeade for drinks on Friday night with Hagrid and anyone else on staff who cared to show up. McGonagall and Filch and Hooch were regulars. Even Pomona Sprout joined them on occasion, bored in her retirement as she was. Tuesday chess nights with Snape had been much harder to procure, but determination and routinely showing up with his favorite alcohol, a gin with a hint of cucumbers, had done the trick. These last few Tuesdays without his company had felt empty. Too quiet. She told herself that she would have been equally upset had Neville bailed on her or had Poppy terminated her informal Mediwitchery lessons, and she tried not to examine her own feelings on the subject any further.

Now they were in his quarters, playing their third game of the evening. His rooms were the mirror image of hers, as far as she could tell. There was a long entryway that opened up into a large sitting room. Where hers opened up to the right, his opened to the left. Continuing through the sitting room, there was a small kitchenette in a closed off space, and another long hallway that led to a bathroom, a spare room, and a bedroom. His sitting room was sparsely furnished: a pair of heavy leather wingback chairs flanking a small table sat in front of a cold fireplace, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a smattering of other odds and ends, but items she liked the most were the old turntable in the corner and his collection of records. They were surprisingly Muggle for Snape, who still dressed in fitted robes whenever he left his chambers. Tonight, he had selected some Miles Davis records and turned the volume on low.

He was relaxed and at ease, sitting back in his chair as he sipped his bitter black tea. He studied her over the chess board. "Are you absolutely certain, Granger?"

"Er..." Damn that man. Either she had made a false move, or she was actually doing well and he was just toying with her mind, making her doubt herself. She gave the board another quick once over. "Er... Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

He moved his bishop diagonally across the board, protecting his king and threatening her queen in the process.

She knew she had to save her queen, so she moved her four spaces to the left.

He countered with his remaining knight. "Checkmate."

"Oh." She grimaced.

"Hence my earlier question."

"Drat." She sighed, slumping back in her chair and shaking her head. "I though I was getting better at this."

"You are," he said. "Your chess game is terrible."

"Is that your idea of a compliment?" she asked. She shot him a confused look and pulled a woolen throw blanket off the back of her chair onto her lap. It said a great deal about their tentative friendship that Hermione felt comfortable enough in his quarters to make herself at home. He still went into conniptions if she tried to wash a dish or lift a finger in his kitchen, but she could swing pillows and blankets around with the best of them.

"You were abysmal when you started playing me. I think you'll agree that terrible is several steps up from abysmal." He played mother, refilling both of their teacups. He passed her the honey jar he kept in his cupboard for her use. Heaven forbid Snape like anything sweet himself. The plate of sweets he provided for their evening consisted of candied ginger and salty black licorice, although she knew that the ginger was another concession he had made for her. "After a few months, you had improved to the point of being atrocious. You worked your way up to being piss poor by the end of last year, but now you're simply terrible. Congratulations."

"What flattery," Hermione muttered under her breath. She stirred several heaping teaspoons of honey into her teacup and wrapped both hands around it, trying to warm herself up. "Should I aspire to become a lousy chess player? Lousy is a step up from terrible, isn't it?"

"Shoot for the stars, Granger," he said. He took another slow sip of his tea. "If you work on your game, you might even be rubbish someday."

"This is why I think we should play backgammon." She held her cup up to her cheek, trying to leech some warmth through the porcelain.

He flicked his wand at the dying embers in the fireplace, making them roar to life.

"Thank you."

"You might have just asked, but your melodramatic hypothermia routine has improved. Much subtler than last time," he said, pointing to the cup she had pressed against her nose.

"This was no routine," she insisted, setting the cup down beside the board. "Your quarters are freezing. I honestly don't know how you take it."

He ran his long fingers down his lapel. "One hundred percent wool, Granger. You need to upgrade your robes now that you're living in the north."

She chuckled into her tea. Hermione had never dreamed she'd receive fashion advice from Severus Snape. "I'd rather enjoy my fireplace, thank you very much. The smell of the wood is too delightful to pass up, and it's so cozy. I think you'd like it if you gave it a chance, Severus. Crookshanks curls up on my lap as I drink hot cider."

"Your beast will make a lovely hat someday," he said, his eyes bright. "Such distinctive coloring should fetch a good price."

"I might believe you if I hadn't found fresh catnip in my quarters last month," Hermione challenged. Indeed, Crookshanks had the strangest affinity for Snape. He avoided all her other colleagues, but came around whenever Severus was over just to ignore the man at a distance of ten feet. The only person Crookshanks trusted more was Luna, who would sit on the floor beside him and purr in what Hermione could only assume was an attempt at nonverbal communication. "He loves it, by the way. Goes a bit crazy in the wee hours of the night, though."

"Why do you assume it was I?" he asked, keeping a straight face. "Longbottom keeps some in greenhouse seven. Perhaps he's wooing you through your monster."

"Well, then, that _must_ be it," she said, her voice laced in an exaggerated sarcasm that proved how much Severus was rubbing off on her. "He's dating Hannah exclusively now, but he's trying to extend an invitation to _me_ of all people by seducing my cat with hallucinatory herbs. And although he hasn't actually been in my quarters since the catnip arrived, and although you, Severus, clearly know which greenhouses hold the catnip and have been the only other person in my quarters since—"

"Maintaining a superfluous fire is a waste of a good house-elf," Severus interrupted, cutting her off before she could acknowledge his affection for her cat aloud. "Besides, you must realize that I've lived here decades longer than you. Why on earth would I change something that clearly works?"

She laughed. "You're maddeningly stubborn, Severus. You never know how much you'll like something new until you give it a go. You need to try new things," she insisted, reaching across the table to poke his chest. Forgetting the chess board and all its pieces in front of her, she nestled into her chair. "Along that line, I will reiterate. Let's have a go at backgammon next time," she said. "I'll bring my board."

"So that I can experience more in life?" he asked skeptically. "You claim to be doing this for my own good and expand my horizons, but I know the truth." He leaned in to whisper his accusations. "You want to best me in something, Granger. You ruthless, heartless woman."

"I _am_ an excellent Backgammon player," she said. "But it's not all about winning. It's also a fun game. Sometimes Neville and I play when we have loads of marking to do."

He snorted. "And who usually wins?"

She smiled mischievously. "I do." She placed her cup down on the table. "Hnefatafl?"

"Bless you."

"No, I mean, why don't we play Hnefatafl?" Hermione had a board stashed away in her parents' home from when she was younger. She could bring it back after her visit there over the upcoming holidays. "It's an earlier version of chess, but Norse, I believe, or Scottish."

"I know what it is, Granger. I don't care about its historical roots. I refuse to play a game that sounds like a sudden, involuntary expulsion of air from one's nostrils."

"Poker?"

"I refuse to dignify that with a response." He waved his hands over the chess board, rearranging the pieces so that they were in the same places they had been before she checked his king. "Look at the board again."

She took a few moments to do so. "I did."

"Now think about what my next move will be."

Hermione's eyes swept over the carved pieces and contemplated Severus' next move. A flick of his wand, and the chess board rotated around as if she were playing his black pieces. After orienting herself to this perspective, she sifted through her options. If she were Severus, she could move her king one step away or take her bishop with his—

"Your problem is the always the same, Granger. You lack any kind of patience or restraint." He started moving the pieces to show her all of her options. "Don't get distracted by the easy check. Your goal is to win, is it not?"

"Of course it is."

"Then think long term. You'll never get what you want unless you go for checkmate."

:

Hermione didn't sleep much that night. His words kept echoing in her mind as she tried to drift off. _Don't be impatient. Think long term._ Was he right?

Yes, she was a bit impatient at times. She went after what she wanted and she got it. She didn't see what the problem was. It had worked for her so far in life. When the world needed to be rid of an evil overlord, she had plotted out everything she and Harry and Ron had needed, sent her folks off to another continent with appropriately forged paperwork and false identities, and set out to destroy the bits of said evil overlord's soul that had been attached to historical objects of importance. No problem. Truthfully, the packing had taken the longest. All in all, she only had one regret. Nobody had ever told her just how awful teenaged boys could smell in close quarters. If she ever ran across another eighteen-year-old girl who was about to travelling for an indeterminate length of time with two teenaged boys, she would encourage that girl to learn from her mistakes and pack scented candles.

Her impatience had worked for her after the war, too. She knew she had to pounce in the immediate aftermath of the Ministry collapse. Within a week of the battle at Hogwarts, Hermione devised a 10-year plan to correct all the discriminatory laws still standing. She crammed her revision for her N.E.W.T.s into two crazy months, passed her exams with top marks, connived Dumbledore's portrait to teach her Mermish and Gobbledegook, encouraged Harry to speak out about the contributions that Remus and Dobby made during the war, and landed an entry-level position at the Ministry. Easy. All the research on blood status laws was conducted by Hermione's team of researchers, and a prominent member of the Wizengamot introduced the bill she authored into law within the first year of her work there. She couldn't care less that her name wasn't attached to it. The Popplewell Bill outlawed any and all blood status registries and struck the 'Pureblood - Halfblood - Muggleborn' ticky boxes from all official forms. Creature status legislation had taken longer, but she authored several studies with the merpeople of the Black Lake, Grawp's fellow giants, and the goblins at Gringotts to give them a platform for their own requests. Eventually Minister Shacklebolt sponsored the Lupin Law himself once Hermione had finished drafting it to his approval, and it was illegal to discriminate against anyone based on their creature status.

If there was one thing she had learned from having Harry Potter as a best friend, it was this: you could do almost anything if you didn't care about receiving any credit.

At 27, Hermione had accomplished everything she had set out to do. Her parents were back to fixing overbites in Dorset, the world was safe, and thanks to the laws she helped pass, nobody could doubt her status as a witch.

Now, if her snotty little students were anything to go by, people simply doubted her status as a woman.

She stopped herself there, remembering all the things she loved about teaching. She adored them, really she did. The look on one of their faces when they understood something for the first time? Priceless. And there was something so horrible about puberty. Thirteen and fourteen must be the most painfully awkward years for everybody. It was a strange gift, she thought, watching an entire generation survive adolescence.

So she returned to Hogwarts, her first home in the magical world. She needed a change and she wanted the challenge. It was a bit lonely at times, living in the castle rather than in her flat in central London, but she'd been lonely for a while. Her circle of peers was about the same size, oddly enough. Instead of Harry and Ginny and the kids, Hermione had Neville and Hagrid for her pseudo-family. It was like swapping out a brother and a sister for a cousin and an enormous, hairy uncle, but it was family nonetheless. Instead of Kingsley as a boss, she had Filius. Instead of Julian, Imogen, and Rufus in the cubicles next to her, she had Septima and Rolanda and Davies beside her at the head table. And Severus, of course.

:

After giving his chess instruction a bit more thought, Hermione wondered if he hadn't been trying to tell her something else. Could he be referring to her failed attempts to seduce him? If that were the case, he seemed to be asking for more of a commitment from her, some sign that she was really invested in him as a potential lover and that she hadn't just propositioned him on a whim. She decided that he must be asking for a grand gesture to prove her interest wasn't fleeting. Words hadn't done the trick in the library— _Merlin! He'd laughed her off!_ —so she needed to escalate her approach.

The following Tuesday afternoon, Hermione owled Severus to meet her in her chambers that evening for a game of chess at their usual time. He agreed, and Hermione began to prepare.

She loved her homey living room. A squashy brown leather sofa covered in pillows faced the fireplace. She had positioned a large coffee table in front of it in order to be able to prop her feet up, and a tufted armchair covered in a loud chinoiserie print was on the other side, closer to the fire screen. Her desk was underneath the window so that she could look over the grounds to the Forbidden Forest while she wrote.

Anticipating all of his favorite things, she arranged an excellent bottle of gin next to an empty glass and a bowl of ice cubes charmed not to melt. Since she was bollocks in kitchen herself, she had asked Tilly, the house-elf assigned to her care, for a few nibbles she knew he loved. (It had taken a long heart-to-heart with Tilly when Hermione had first arrived at Hogwarts before they cleared up any confusion as to what each expected of the other, but they eventually came to an understanding.)

Then Hermione hopped into the shower to freshen up and wash her hair for the second time that day. The bathrooms at Hogwarts rivaled any spa or salon in Europe, what with their adjustable temperature settings and the sunken marble tubs. They were heavenly, but not even twenty minutes in the steam could do much to calm her growing nerves. Was she taking things too far? Or was this exactly what Severus was asking for? How would he react? When she emerged, she wrapped herself in a towel and went to inspect everything. She ducked into the living room to check the clock on the wall.

It was seven minutes to 8 pm, and Tilly had just delivered one tray of sushi and another heaping plate of chips with a bottle of malt vinegar. Perfect. Severus had such eclectic tastes.

Making a mental note to thank Tilly later, Hermione went back into her room and slipped into a pair of silk trousers. She fingered a shirt in the closet that she usually wore with the trousers, but left it on its hanger. Her hair was still dripping, but she was running out of time, so a quick spell later and it had frizzed up in wild, but dry, glory. _Good enough_ , Hermione thought. _He probably won't notice, all things considered._

Two minutes to eight.

She returned to the living room and paced in circles, awaiting his knock. Should she answer the door? She could stand there and wait for him. On the other hand, he might bolt, and that would never do. She needed him to come all the way into her living room. She frantically looked around, deciding the best place to position herself. After a moment or two of fretting, she took her place in the middle of the sofa. That would do. Then she kicked her legs up on the coffee table and propped her arms along its back. Oh, that did wonders for her tits. Much better. They looked as perky as they did when she was seventeen.

Now she waited.

She jumped when he knocked. "Come in, Severus," she called from the sofa.

"You're not going to answer the door?" he asked through the wood.

"It's open," she responded. Her voice cracked a little bit. "Please close the door behind you."

She tried to hide her nerves with a toothy smile as she waited for him to walk the length of the entryway.

"All right, Granger," he said. "I'm coming."

She heard the click of the latch behind him, and his careful footsteps down the hallway.

"I see you shelled out for the good stuff, Granger." The coffee table was visible the door, and he plucked the empty glass and gin bottle from the table to pour himself a tumblerful.

Then he turned to her.

And stopped.

He stopped breathing, stopped blinking, and certainly stopped holding that glass. It slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor in shards.

She scrambled to pick up her wand, then reassembled the glass and returned it on the table.

"You could—Why the—" he spluttered. His eyes were glued to her body. "Have you taken leave of your senses, woman?"

She settled back into place, arms extended along the sofa.

"They're just breasts, Severus," she said, almost apologetically. Oh, dear. She had thought that this would have gone more smoothly. Broken glassware was not a part of her plan.

"I'm not an idiot, Granger. I can see that your... your..."

He hadn't actually looked her in the eye yet, and she was growing a bit uncomfortable by the well-lit scrutiny she was receiving. She should have turned the overhead lighting off and relied on the flattering flickers of dim firelight. _Next time, old girl_ , she thought to herself. She couldn't keep the blush from spreading across her cheeks, and she now held onto the hope that it hadn't spread down to the body parts in question. "Breasts, Severus."

"I can see very well what they are."

"Come now, Severus," Hermione said, her voice warm and as steady as she could manage. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." She tried to remain playful and wait for him to something— _anything_ —whether it be to relax or to jump her or to run away screaming. "Have a seat and I'll set up, shall I?"

He was still staring at her tits.

"Set up... Set..."

He seemed temporarily incapable of finishing that sentence, so Hermione patted the seat next to her and turned the chess board so they could both reach it. "A game of chess, Severus? Unless you're changed your mind and would like to play backgammon after all?"

With the word "backgammon," something in him snapped. His eyes met hers for a moment before he whirled around on the spot. He was fiddling with something in his coat, but she couldn't tell what.

Before she could make out the Latin words he murmured under his breath, a large white cloth was being thrust in her general direction.

"Put that on," he snapped.

She looked it over, noting the initials S.T.S. embroidered into the collar. _Oh._ He had transfigured his handkerchief into a hideous, ill-fitting jacket. He had made her something to cover herself. She didn't know if she should be offended or touched.

"Is it on?" he asked, his voice a dull rasp.

She slipped it on, wrapping it around her torso. "Yes, Severus," she answered. "It's on."

He turned and faced her once more. Once he had determined that she was no longer a threat, he looked at the seat beside her on the sofa, the place she had invited him to sit. Then his eyes darted to the empty armchair, and he strode over and sat down. Still ignoring her, he stretched his body across the table to pour himself a tumblerful of gin.

She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking, so she waited for him to collect himself. She watched him down a glass of gin. Straight. He would be breathing fire tonight. After that, he methodically devoured all the fatty tuna nigiri, and poured himself another glass of gin.

He took a swig and reluctantly spoke up, confused and restrained. "I don't know what you want here, Granger."

That seemed rather unfair. She thought she had made herself perfectly clear. "I just want you, Severus."

He frowned and shook his head. "I don't know what you _really_ want here, Granger," he clarified, now quietly seething, "but I never thought you would do... that you even could do..." He was at a loss for words. "Clothe yourself properly and we will pretend this never happened."

She was livid. "How dare you, Severus!" she exclaimed. A small fury was rolling off her in waves as she stood. "I may be many things, but I am always a woman of my word!" She turned her back on him and tried to keep her voice steady. "This was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. Let me throw something on. When I return, we will start tonight over and never, _ever_ speak of this again." She marched down the hallway to her bedroom and slammed the door closed behind her before he could hear her bursting into tears.

Hermione gave herself sixty seconds of unfettered emotional release before washing her face and preparing herself to rejoin Severus. Digging around in her closet, she fished out the frumpiest sweater she owned, a Molly Weasley creation from a few years back, and slipped it over her head.

She didn't know that he was already regretting his words and second guessing himself in the other room. When she fled, he stalked over to the window, his thoughts scattered as he looked out upon the new moon. He leaned against her desk and sighed. What a bloody mess they had on their hands. She should have known better than to stir this pot.

A commotion from her room told him that she was returning, so he turned to walk back to her hideous armchair.

A scroll of paper under stack of books caught his eye. It looked like a list of some sort, and it was long, numbered down to 26. Granger and her lists. Some things would never change.

Wait a minute. Was that _his_ name?


	6. The Floo Call

Another loud door slam heralded her return.

Severus made a quick decision. It was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing his name in her handwriting, he supposed. While he hadn't plan on violating her privacy, his name there on the page more than entitled him to know what she was scribbling about. It might even explain the lunacy that had taken over her otherwise excellent mind. He snatched a loose sheet of paper of her desk and muttered a quick duplication spell. Done. Slipping the list into his pocket to peruse later at his leisure, he returned to her garish yellow armchair as she stomped down the hallway with angry footsteps.

She plopped down into the middle of her sofa wearing a beige nobbly sweater with an orange cat on it. It three sizes too large and had 'Weasley' written all over it. Her feet were bare, toes painted a pale pink, and she had pulled up her mop of hair into a messy knot, exposing the fair skin of her neck to him. She pulled her long legs up underneath her and crossed them.

The woman was engaging the gin bottle in a staring contest, eyes red-rimmed but dry.

Damn. He was a bastard of the highest order.

At least now she would back off and stop offering her body for his one-time use.

It wasn't his fault that no other man had the bollocks to step up and pursue her properly. She should have disposed with her virginity years ago. Hell, how she wasn't constantly beating away suitors daily was beyond his comprehension. Fools. Of course, any male who had been with her at school was probably terrified of her on some level, and rightly so. Anyone who met her after the war was probably too in awe of the woman to do anything about it. She would be exhausting as a partner in bed or in life, but she would certainly never be boring.

If he were good enough for her, he might have gone after her himself. If he were twenty years younger, if he had never been her bloody professor, if he had been an honorable man rather than a traitor whose life dissolved into shambles. If he wore a different face—he didn't need to be handsome, just needed not to be the repulsive fellow he was. If he were even remotely good with women. If he were rich and could give her everything she desired but was too selfless to ask for.

Instead, he was a pathetic sod.

Even worse was the fact that after his behavior here tonight, she knew it. He'd stood there gaping at the loveliest breasts he'd ever set eyes on, like she was a piece of choice meat or the saltiest licorice fish in the package. Had she tried to talk to him? He thought that perhaps she had, but he barely noticed.

Nothing about Granger made any fucking sense anymore. When she was a whinging little arm waver in his Potions class, he knew what to expect. She was a manic bundle of hair and teeth and the constant need to validate her capabilities. Now? He hardly knew what to make of her. She was as bossy as she ever had been, only he was now the subject of her demands rather than her housemates.

She'd traipsed into Hogwarts a year ago and thrown herself down next to him at their first staff meeting, yammering on about how glad she was to see him and how honored she was to work with him. She did the same thing to Minerva when the older witch joined them, and Vector, too. Not Trelawney or Davies, he'd noted.

And now she sat across from him, practically comatose.

He set up the chess pieces and angled the board between them.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a second glass from her kitchen, snatched it from the air, and poured herself a stiff drink. Then she pulled the plate of chips into her lap and drowned them in malt vinegar.

"Your move, Granger."

"Hmm?" She was startled out of her thoughts.

"Your move."

"Of course it is," she grumbled, moving her pawn forward two spaces. Before she took her hand away, she slid the pawn back one space.

There was something unnatural about seeing her this dejected. "Timid, Granger."

Her eyes flashed and the woman he knew returned. "I can't believe you have the gall to say that to me tonight, of all nights!"

He reached over to her lap and grabbed a handful of chips. "Just in your game. Certainly not in life."

"Do you think this is a game to me?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed and she eyed him suspiciously.

"We both know that whatever it is you think you want, you do not actually want me."

"Oh, do we?"

"You are all talk."

"I'm pretty sure I just showed a bit than talk tonight."

He stilled. If he discomfited her, would she let it drop? "And how will it be when I take you, hmm? Rainbows and angelic choirs singing? The heavens opening up and unicorns prancing with delight?"

She pointed some chips at him accusatorially. "If you do the job adequately, I believe _I_ will be the one singing and the unicorns should be backing out of the room slowly."

"So just rainbows and heavens, then?" he asked, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"Honestly, I don't know how it will be." She fidgeted in her seat and put the chips back on the table. "That's rather the point, isn't it? I don't know what it will be like for me and I don't know how you... what you... like. At all. I was never one to speculate about my professor's love lives, but now that we're colleagues and friends, I just... That is, you're just so competent, Severus, and good with your hands, and you're obsessive about details, which makes a girl think that if you directed any bit of that towards her, that—Well, that is, I think that if you directed any of it towards me, that—"

"Granger, stop." With expectations like that, any man would disappoint her. He returned his attention to the chess board and advanced his knight. "First times are rubbish. They are for everyone. Hypothetically, they are even worse for women."

"That's why I was hoping to convince you to agree to more than one night." She moved her knight forward as well.

"I have no desire to leave you sobbing in my wake, even if it is only once."

"Why do you assume I'll break down?"

He pushed a pawn forward and glanced at her. "Find someone else. I know I am, as you say, here and unmarried, which seems to make me an acceptable substitute for whoever it is you're looking for, but find another man. It shouldn't be difficult."

Her eyebrow raised at that, but she wisely kept her lips shut.

His words were challenging, and he spoke to the bottom of his glass more than to her. "Find the man you actually want."

They continued on with their chess game, a stalemate of words as he beat her soundly, twice. They were in the middle of a third game when the telltale sounds of the Floo disturbed them, a sputtering and shuffling of the embers beneath the andirons.

The flames flashed an emerald green and the head of Ginevra Weasley Potter bobbed in the fireplace. "Hermione? Hermione?" she called.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "Hi, Gin."

"I'm so glad I caught you!" She chuckled to herself and rolled her eyes at her own joke. "It's a weeknight. Where else would you be but at home, curled up in your pyjamas?"

Hermione didn't answer.

"Listen, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?"

"Of course," Hermione answered quietly.

She finally noticed that something was off with her friend. "Hermione, is everything okay?"

"What? Yes, of course it is, Ginny. I'm just playing Severus in chess."

"Oh, hello, Professor!" She tutted him in a way that sounded eerily reminiscent of her mother. "Are you making our dear girl cry?"

He wasn't about to tell her that, yes, indeed, Hermione's bleary eyes were because of him. The girl had far too much of her mother in her and he liked his bollocks attached to his body. If Hermione ever got her way, he assumed she would prefer them attached as well.

The redhead laughed uncontrollably. "Relax, Professor. You're winning, I assume?"

He nodded.

"I knew it!" She sounded triumphant. "Hermione's far too competitive!" She turned to her friend. "Seriously, it's just a game. Make him play you in backgammon if your ego needs stroking."

He watched Hermione slam down another drink. She was displeased, and not with him.

"What's up, Ginny?" she asked brusquely.

Deciding that he was entirely out of place, he stood up and headed into her kitchen to give her a bit of privacy. It was a mess, but then, so was its owner at times. He dug through the disarray in her fridge until he found a bottle of tonic water. She would need this to cut the liquor she had been consuming. Perhaps he should just brew a pot of chamomile. He put the kettle on. Then he walked to the door, listening to determine whether or not it was safe to return.

"Harry's been planning this for weeks. We wanted to celebrate together, but he never could get the week off at work. Even if he did, we'd have James and Al around, and they tend to put a damper on things when they heat up."

"Gin, I do not need to hear about things 'heating up' with Harry. He's like my brother."

"Sorry, Hermione! I'm just so randy all the time, and he does this amazing thing with my—"

"GINNY!" Hermione hollered. "I love you, I do, but—"

"Right. Sorry. I'm just so relieved the morning sickness is over. That's the worst. When I vomit, my stomach aches and it's like there's a river of—"

"That sounds awful," Hermione interrupted her, abruptly cutting her off before things got even more graphic.

"I think this is the last time, though. I have a good feeling about this one being a girl, and if that's the case? We're stopping."

"You know you said that last time," Hermione teased her.

"I know, I know... But Al's such a darling." She sighed. "If you can take them on Friday afternoon, Mum and Dad will have them from Sunday night on, and Harry and I will get them back at the end of the week."

"What time should I pick them up at your place?"

"Why would you pick them up?"

"To bring back here. I'll transfigure some pillows into beds for the boys in the spare room. You know how much James loves Crookshanks. I thought they'd like visiting Hagrid and seeing some of the plants Neville's growing these days. We could even meet up with George in Hogsmeade."

"Oh, nonsense. You'll stay at our house. I'll set up the guest room for you. Just think, Hermione, you'll be in a real house for a change, even if it is only temporary. Just like an actual grown-up. That way, the boys can stay in their own rooms. Crooks can come along, if you'd like."

"I do live in a real house," she said indignantly. "A castle, even. But... I guess I can do that. If it's easier on the boys not to disturb their routines."

"Brilliant! Then you'll have them until Sunday evening, and Mum and Dad will come then."

"Should I launder the bedclothes for the guest room for them?"

"You needn't bother. The boys are going to the Burrow."

He listened, but there wasn't a peep coming out of Hermione. He was waiting for an explosion of some sort over the blatant double standards that were being set down for her. None came. Picturing her twitching in silence as she restrained herself, he put the tonic water back into her fridge, poured the tea, and summoned her honey.

"Anyway, thanks again, Hermione! You know you're their favorite auntie. I'll see you Friday. Ta!"

The Floo kicked up again, and when he rejoined Hermione with a pot of tea and a bottle of tonic water, Mrs. Potter was gone.

"Tea?" he asked, setting everything down on the table.

" _Gods_ , yes," she replied. She closed her eyes and let her head drop against the back of her sofa.

He fixed her tea the way she liked it, strong with a few teaspoons of honey, and pushed it towards her.

:

When Severus returned to his quarters that night, he called Tilly to appear. The cheerful house-elf gladly accepted the small blue vial he pressed into her hand and promised to bring it to her mistress. She needed to teach the next morning, after all, and she had terrible headaches after overindulging.

He removed his jacket and hung it in his closet. When he pushed the hanger aside, the folded up piece of paper fell out of his pocket.


	7. The List

He picked it up off the floor of his closet and delicately unfolded it. Printed across the top were the words 'Reasons to Convince Severus Snape for a Proper Shag,' and beneath it were twenty-six numbered items. Twenty-fucking-six. He skimmed over the page. The first twenty-three were all in black ink, the next two in blue, and the final one was in green. He knew that Granger preferred a quill and ink to a pen when she worked at her desk, although she took a pen out with her in the field for the sake of practicality. What did it mean that she kept changing inks? If he was interpreting this correctly, the woman must have sat down, drummed up almost two dozen reasons why she wanted to give him her body, considered it some more and came up with two more reasons. Then she _kept on thinking of him_ until she added one more and was finished.

Perhaps she was running out of ink, and she changed ink bottles in one sitting. He was more apt to believe that she came home completely inebriated or suffered under the side effects of some potion when she wrote this. She had one off night, scribbled out this list in a fit of drug-induced madness, and forgotten about it the next morning. That would explain things.

He examined the strokes again, noting a strong, clean line throughout.

So no. One lapse of judgment was not the case here. She sat at this very desk on at least three separate occasions with this task in mind.

It was insane, but it seemed to be true.

Hermione Granger had been meditating on his shaggability for weeks.

He read over the items a full three times before any of the words made any sense to him.

Roughly a third of them seemed to be accurate assessments of his intelligence. His unorthodox approach to his subject and his personal library were numbers 11 and 20. The depth of his knowledge, the sharpness of his wit, and the extent of his vocabulary were numbers 3, 16, and 5, respectively.

Only Granger would find that last one a turn on. He imagined pressing himself against her body, whispering words like "encomiastic" and "expatiation" into Hermione's ear and listening to her gasps of delight. _No_ , he reprimanded himself. _That way madness lies_. He stopped that train of thought cold. It was only natural that a sharp bird like Granger would recognize and appreciate his intelligence. That didn't mean anything. She could say the same of herself or Minerva or Filius.

Another six or seven of them were related to what she perceived to be his character, but she seemed to be suffering under the delusion that he was some bloated, idealistic, tragically misunderstood hero. She noted his bravery in the war, his ability to protect the people who hated him the most during his year as headmaster, his endurance watching some of his students suffer at the hands of the Carrows in order that the ruse be kept up. His willingness to sacrifice his life and his own happiness for absolutely no public recognition or thanks.

Bravery! What a farce. He was scared shitless for pretty much all of both wars. He was entirely driven by guilt in the immediate aftermath of Lily's death in the first one, and in the second, he just had to make it long enough to send her son off to his own grave. Fear took a much greater role in the first war for him. At twenty-some odd years of age, he still held an inkling of belief that he might be find a more meaningful use of his talents or girl that didn't mind his company. He'd already given up any hope of ever being loved even then. Really, the thought was laughable. By the time the second war rolled around, Severus knew he had nothing to live for afterwards. Why not die? Even if he had died and been labelled a traitor, he knew what he had stood for. His death would have given his miserable life some semblance of meaning. As for his willingness to protect the students of Hogwarts under his reign of terror, who was she fooling? Yes, he kept students from being killed outright, but he wasn't able to do much more than that. He tried to prevent needless torture, and he disguised their punishments as best as he could, but why was Granger singling him out for _that_? He wasn't a monster. Anyone with a soul would have done as much. Pffft. She admired his selflessness? What a ludicrously optimistic little thing she was, thinking as though he could ever be a happy man. Life is all too brief and then you die. The end. Others distract themselves from this through their work or their spouses or their children, but that simple truth remained.

The description of his person made very little sense. She didn't seem to have vision problems, and he had never seen her wearing glasses of any kind, but something was clearly wrong. Her assessments had, at best, a tenuous relationship with reality. Number 11 on her list was what she called his "lean physique." _That would be underdeveloped scrawniness, Granger_. Number 17 was his nose. She'd drawn an odd cartoonish face with an open grin after that one, and it seemed to be winking. He had no idea what was happening in her mind about that subject. His nose was far too large for most people's tastes. Unless she was indicating the size of his... _No_ , he thought. _Granger wouldn't speculate about that, would she_? Number 8 on her list was his hands. All right, so he could almost understand that one. A capable Potioneer's hands could come in handy in amatory pursuits, even if they were attached to his body. He would concede one point to Granger. His smile when he teased her? She was surely imagining things here. Severus Snape did not smile. Not even at intelligent, pretty young things who sought him out for discussions of politics and who awaited him toplessly in their quarters. His eyes made it on the list. Well, yes, he did have eyes. Another point to Granger, although he didn't know what having eyes had to do with wanting to shag him.

Number 1 on her list made the least sense of all. His heart. He didn't know if he should classify this item as referring to his body or his character. Anatomically, he did possess a heart, although a few decades' worth of erstwhile students might disagree. She had written that 'even he doesn't understand the depths of his heart.' What did that even mean?

Tired and overwhelmed, Severus folded the paper back in quarters and tucked it away under a pile of black socks in his dresser drawer. He pulled on his trusty grey nightshirt, brushed his teeth, and slid under the covers of his bed. As he drifted off the sleep, he reconsidered Hermione Granger and all he had learned about her this evening.

She had never told him of this list, hadn't written it after the fact to convince him to sleep with her. No, indeed not. Hermione had written out all of the things about him to convince herself that he was what she wanted most of all.

 _Well, well_ , he thought. _So Professor Granger is smitten, is she? Interesting..._

This changed everything.

Now that he knew of the extent of her esteem for him, there was only one woman he needed to speak with.

:

"Poppy," he said, grave decorum written on his sharp features, "I feel it my responsibility to alert you to your professional negligence."

It was early, so the only patients present were those with complicated injuries and illnesses that required them to stay overnight. Two young Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and a Slytherin were still sleeping behind the hospital curtains.

Shaking her head and smiling, the school matron led Severus into an quiet corner of the infirmary away from other patients. A portrait of Renaissance Healer in odd garb was snoring away on the wall behind them. Poppy threw up a series of Privacy Charms in case any of the students awoke. With great forbearance, she sat down on the empty bed and patted the space beside her.

He sat down.

"Severus, my dear, what is it that you think I have neglected?"

"The staff undergo annual physical checkups," he said slowly, "but you fail to address their mental health needs during that assessment."

Poppy Pomfrey was the woman who had shown him more kindness in his life than any other, who had seen him at his worst when he was a child and nursed him back to health through two wars. In many ways, she was as close to a second mother as he was ever going to get. She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eye, deeply concerned. "Is something wrong, Severus? Have you been having self-destructive thoughts or experienced anything out of the ordinary?"

He pulled away gruffly. "This isn't about me, woman."

"Who is it about?"

He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away. "I will not disclose their identity. Confidentiality is required on matters such as these."

"If you can't tell me who this concerns, can you at least tell me what this is about?"

"I have reason to believe that a staff member is unstable."

Her demeanor was warm and soothing as she coaxed answers out of him."Why do you believe that?"

He blushed. "This person has been spouting nonsense of an indelicate nature."

"Ah, I see," she said knowingly, a small smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. "What has Hermione said to you that has rattled your cage so?"

A remnant of his spying days was his ability to show no reaction whatsoever when it served his purposes. He used it now.

"Am I wrong?" she gently prodded.

"I do not see why you automatically leap to that conclusion."

"The girl talks to you more than everyone else on staff combined. Not for lack of trying on my part, but you're always too busy to visit me, Severus. Besides, you're forgetting that I work with her once a week. She's as sharp as ever. It is my professional opinion that Hermione Granger is of sound mind and body."

"Is it difficult working with someone with impaired vision?" he asked, testing his other theory that Granger had simply gone blind, forgotten what looked like, and was now operating on a terrible memory.

"What are you talking about?" Poppy asked, now openly laughing. "She doesn't even wear glasses."

Severus nodded brusquely.

The older woman inspected him, methodically observing the slight flush of his cheeks, the bead of sweat at his hairline, and the way he avoided making eye contact with her. She sighed and stood before him, placing her hands on his slumped shoulders. "My dear boy, Hermione knows herself. I don't know what it is she's done or said to throw you into such a tizzy, but rest assured, she is not working with faulty evidence. She means what she says. You would do well to believe her and accept whatever it is she's telling you at face value."

She kissed him on the forehead, pulled him up to standing, and clapped his shoulders. "Now don't mess this up! She admires you, you know."

She walked away, chuckling to herself, leaving behind a very confused Potions master in her wake.

:

He waited nearly a week before confronting Hermione. One awkward, tense week in which she ignored him almost entirely.

Of course, the weekend was easy to deal with, since she wasn't there. Even after Ginevra had insulted her so abominably, she had decided to go over to Chez Potter and watch their rugrats for them. She was far too soft, Hermione was.

Having made his decision, he showed up at her quarters on one of the evenings he knew she would be free. When had he learned her schedule? He didn't set about to do it, but there it was, a fact of his life. Severus Snape knew where Hermione Granger would be at almost every hour of every day. He doubted even followed Lily like such a sad puppy when he was a boy. He stood outside her door for a full three minutes before he lifted his fist and knocked.

"Just a minute!" he heard muffled through the heavy door.

A brief scuffle later, and she opened it, dressed in her pyjamas and wearing a robe belted tightly around her slight waist.

"Oh," she said, her voice flat. "It's you." She did not step aside to let him in as she usually did, but stood there, stony-faced and proud.

He barged past her and marched down the entryway.

"Yes, Severus," she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. " _Do_ come in, will you?"

He heard the door close, followed by her slippered footsteps as she joined him in her living room. Having determined that there was no possible way to avoid the discomfort of this conversation, he decided to have it out with her as quickly as he could manage it. He paced back and forth behind her sofa.

"It has recently come to my attention that you would like to embark upon an intimate relationship with me."

"It has recently come to _my_ attention that you wanted me to be evaluated for mental instability," she spat back.

He gasped. "Poppy _told_ you that?" I thought I could trust—"

Hermione put her hand up. "No, Severus. She didn't tell me. I was worried about you, so I asked her if there was anything I could do anything to help you. She told me to be patient and supportive, and to ignore my concerns. When she left the room, one of the portraits spilled the beans and told me everything you said."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I needed to know."

"You doubt yourself far too much, Severus."

She was already stepping on territory he preferred she would avoid. They were not this close. He wasn't this close with anybody.

"You're offering me a drink, Granger." He walked away before she could tear down any more of his walls. He summoned an empty glass and headed over to her liquor cabinet to pour himself a firewhisky. He downed one, poured another, and thrust the bottle into her hands.

Then he turned to her, drumming his fingers on his glass. He spoke slowly, determined to get out these words before he left her quarters again. "I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."


	8. The Negotiation

"A mutually beneficial arrangement?" she repeated. Her eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Yes."

"And you've decided this now, today, rather than weeks ago when I first asked?"

Severus was confused. Shouldn't she be pleased with this turn of events? "Shall I leave?" he asked. "You said this was what you wanted."

"No, don't go. Stay." She fiddled with the ends of her robe ties. "But why today?"

"As I said, it has come to my attention that you desired this."

"Today?"

"Need I repeat myself? Yes."

"Why not last week? That was more than a bit humiliating to be rejected like that."

"What was I supposed to do, take you vigorously up against the wall?" he asked, pointing to exposed brick wall next to her fireplace. "That seems remarkably uncomfortable for anyone, let alone for someone's first time. I would imagine your back would be covered in bruises at the very least."

He noted the dilation of her pupils.

She didn't respond, so he continued. "Perhaps I should have slung you over my shoulder and marched you into your bedroom like a sack of potatoes? Hmm? Is that what you thought would happen, that I would drop you on your bed and rip your trousers from you forcefully?"

Her breathing grew quick and shallow.

He was mesmerized.

But he needed to soldier through, since she was clearly growing more and more distracted. He shook it off. "First off, Granger, it's not logistically possible to rip a pair of well-made trousers from anyone's body. A shirt might work, but only if it was a button-down Oxford or something of that ilk. Even then, it's not ripping the shirt off so much as it is merely ripping it open."

She was staring at him openly now, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

He spoke again. "Secondly, I will divulge this tidbit. You did what most cannot do, and managed to take me by surprise. I'm not often presented with a pair of tits in lieu of a chess game." He kept mum on just how long it had been since any woman had presented him with a looksie at anything at all.

She started giggling. "Besides me, who else do you—or _have_ you—played?"

"At Hogwarts?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Dumbledore. Minerva. Horace, but only on rare occasions."

"I understand." She nodded in false solemnity. "I think Slughorn might have the largest pair out of those three choices."

A look of revulsion crept across his features. "You're a terrible woman, you know that, Granger?"

She smiled and broke their stand off, leading him to her living room and pointing to the sofa. "Sit," she commanded.

He sat. He knew better than to fight her when her feathers were already ruffled.

She stood before him, arms crossed against her chest. _If you looked beyond the ragged bathrobe and the fuzzy slippers_ , he thought, _it was easy to recognize the Amazon warrior in full blaze_. He knew he should probably be mildly frightened when she was like this.

"You are still going to apologize to me, Severus Snape."

"For what? I'm giving you what you asked for."

"You left me hanging in a very delicate situation. It was mortifying." She frowned at him. "Moreover, you went to Poppy and told her I was crazy! I work with her!"

"I most certainly did not!" he hissed. "I kept your name out of it entirely by asking for evaluations for all the staff. She brought your name up herself."

"Poppy thinks I'm unbalanced?" Hermione cried, shocked. Her shouting had gone up a few notches in volume and intensity.

"Of course not. Don't be daft. But when I mentioned the issue, she knew it was you." This conversation was leading nowhere good. He regretted saying anything at all now, particularly as he was being reprimanded on the sofa like a cheeky third-year.

She began pacing in circles. "If she doesn't think I'm crazy, why would she have mentioned me at all?"

"She said that you're the only person who talks to me," he grumbled.

The anger drained from Hermione's face, and she chuckled to herself. "Or Poppy thinks I'm the only one whose welfare you care about," she said, wheedling him with a smile.

 _Well_. He wasn't about to respond to that accusation, even if it was accurate. _Especially_ because it was accurate. Instead, he was going to enjoy the replacement of virago Hermione with a much happier version of herself. Deciding he should fetch something to nibble on from her kitchen, he tried to stand.

With one delicate finger, she pushed him back into his seat. "Not so fast. You're still going to apologize before we proceed."

"I did absolutely nothing wrong!" he insisted. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

She pulled the belt on her robe just a tick tighter, set her hands on her hips, pursed her lips, and waited.

"Fine!" he said. "I'm sorry, Granger."

"For what?"

He glared at her. "For this whole execrable charade."

"Try again."

"For persuading the school matron to broaden her monitoring of staff health."

"Please, Severus? It won't hurt you, I promise."

She stood there tapping her toes with a look of frustration and anger and hope. "You made me doubt myself, Severus. I hate that feeling."

He released a long-suffering sigh. She wasn't going to let it go, and he hated apologizing. Of course, he thought, how would it look if the tables were turned? If he had propositioned Granger, and she had turned him down flat, even if she'd been armed with a reasonable explanation? If he'd thought she had reported him to their superiors for a psychiatric evaluation?

He thought he might as well be forthcoming. Just this once. He looked up at the woman before him and spoke. "Hermione Granger, you lack in nothing." There. He'd only spoken the truth, and he didn't actually have to do any meaningless groveling before her.

She beamed at him, and an unfamiliar warmth spread through his narrow chest. This apologizing business was easier than he thought, and it yielded excellent results.

He might as well continue. "I apologize if my words or actions made you doubt that."

"I'm sorry, too, Severus. I may have jumped to conclusions about whatever you told Poppy. Sometimes I get ahead of myself." She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me."

He nodded, since he knew that was the correct response.

Her change of heart was sudden.

He didn't know anyone whose emotions could turn on Knut quite like hers, but if her forgiveness would always be given this freely despite what came out of his mouth, he wasn't going to question it.

He stood up and headed into the kitchen, leaving before she turned into a sticky, emotional mess before his very eyes. Perusing her larder, he found nothing worthy of his appetite. "I'm calling Tilly, Granger," he told the woman in the living room. "You really are the worst cook in all of Great Britain."

:

An hour, a couple of scones, and a pot of chamomile later, Severus had almost forgotten his reason for seeking Hermione's company.

She had not.

"So this mutually beneficial arrangement you mentioned earlier? What would it consist of?"

He set his teacup down beside the crumb-filled plate. "You desire to be rid of your virginity. I have the necessary apparatus. We are two consenting adults..." His voice trailed off.

"You don't have to be so dour about this," she said. "We could even have fun with it. Mirrors on the ceiling, perhaps?"

He grimaced. "If it's mirrors you want, you may want to reconsider. Track down Professor Davies to do the job."

"Severus Snape," she said. "You seem to be missing the fact that I know what you look like. Based on that, I can extrapolate what's under your clothes even if I haven't seen your body. I would, in fact, like to shag it. But more to the point is that I would like to shag _you_."

When she looked at him like that, with her open demeanor and a tinge of bossiness in her speech, he almost believed her.

All the words she had said to him came back to him now, and everything she had written in that damned list of hers. She thought he was brave and honorable. She might be wrong on both counts, but she believed them nevertheless. She liked his intelligence. She also reassured him repeatedly that she didn't want to have a relationship with him. That last one said it all, didn't it?

He picked up the tea things and retreated to the kitchen.

"When can we start?" She was almost bouncing in her seat. Her enthusiasm was starting to read its ugly head. "You are agreeing to this, right?"

"I said 'yes,' didn't I?"

"Technically, no, you didn't, but I think it was implied." She led him back to the sofa and sat down beside him. "And I'm not forcing you or compelling you into this?"

He rolled his eyes. "Do you really think you could force me to do anything I didn't want to do?"

"Not physically, obviously, or magically." She threaded her fingers through his, trying to offer some sort of reassurance. "But I don't want to use the better part of your nature to—"

He scoffed. "I'd say that's impossible. Most would tell you there is no good part of my nature to extort."

She squeezed his hands. "They would be wrong. You and I both know that's not tr—"

"Fine, Granger," he said. "Yes."

"Freely?"

"Freely," he said. "I only have one condition."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"I assume that this... arrangement is temporary. I want to ensure that we can work together civilly once it's over."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You were serious about not crossing lines with coworkers, weren't you?"

He nodded. He also didn't want to ruin the first amicable relationship he'd had since Albus had died. Telling her that would be handing her ammunition in her war to prove he had a soul, so he held his tongue.

A sudden realization came over her. "I'll take Polyjuice. I've taken it twice before. That way, you can have whoever it you'd prefer, and you don't have to think about it being me."

He frowned. It was a stupid offer on many levels, not the least of which being that there was no one else he wanted. He could picture her taking a swig of Polyjuice Potion he had brewed with her own hair and getting frustrated that it wasn't working. But one other thing bothered him. "I remember you as a cat, but what was the second?"

"Bellatrix." Her voice was distant and detached, and she stared off into the flickering oranges and reds above the grate. She curled her legs up underneath her body."Such a strange series of events. One minute, I'm being tortured by her in the Malfoy drawing room, the next minute, I'm breaking into her Gringotts vault, wearing her body like an outgrown winter coat."

She shuddered.

"That woman was evil incarnate," he agreed. He hadn't heard about Granger's time in the bank. Those three had done a remarkable job of keeping their time in the war to themselves.

"I have to consider myself lucky," she said. "I spent twenty minutes under her wand and her knife, pissing myself in front of the entire Malfoy family while I bled all over their fancy rugs. Not one of my finer moments."

"I would not say that," he countered. "You held up under the Cruciatus Curse and took out a 10,000 galleon carpet in one fell swoop. It might be one of your finer moments in the war, Granger."

She smiled grimly and nodded at him.

"Besides," he continued, "it served Lucius right. He was a pompous arse about the stupidest things, elaborate carpets, showy peacocks, and blood status among them."

She reached over and patted him on the arm.

He snorted. "You certainly do not wish to know what peacock droppings smell like."

Chuckling, she relaxed into the sofa.

"You shouldn't take the Polyjuice," he said quietly. "Think back to your time as Bellatrix. Sensations are different in someone else's body. You should have... _this_ as yourself, Granger."

"But then you'll see me."

She paused.

He shrugged.

"Darkness."

"What?" he asked.

"We'll do it in a darkened room so you don't have to think about it being me." She looked at him. "Would that work?"

"I... I suppose it would—"

"Your quarters or mine?" she asked, eager as a Niffler in a cave filled with gold.

He shook his head. "Neither. I'll always associate you with my bed if we use it."

"Why not mine? You've never even been in my bedroom."

"You wouldn't mind?" He sounded skeptical.

"No, I think I'd like that." She hopped up and headed over to her desk, where she retrieved a small notepad and self-inking quill. She sat down in her ugly yellow armchair, facing him, poised to take notes. "What else, Severus?"

"I think we should agree never to speak of it outside these walls. It would complicate things."

She scratched something down on her notepad. "Okay. What else?"

"No talking to anyone about this. My private life is private."

"Severus, I'm not writing that one down. I would never violate your privacy or do anything to jeopardize your trust in me."

He shifted in his seat, attempting to disguise his own discomfort as they negotiated. "What do you expect from this? I was not joking, Granger. First times are terrible. You will have a horrible experience at my hands and you will not enjoy yourself."

The chit laughed.

 _Laughed_.

He should just leave now before she lost all respect for him. "Oh, Severus. I don't think I could possibly have a bad time with you."

They spent another fifteen minutes working out the details: times, dates, positions. Gods, she was a delightfully brazen woman. He'd had no idea at what lurked beneath the surface. She had insisted on multiple encounters as a means of ensuring that they could improve or work on various techniques, and had offered to read up on anything he thought she should know beforehand. He knew from his association with Lucius and Narcissa that there were any number of creative approaches to the art of lovemaking, but fuck all if he hadn't a clue. Who wrote things of that nature? Needless to say, he had no place to point her to in the school library.

When all was said and done, she read aloud all the bullet points they had agreed upon: darkness, no talking, et cetera. Every evening at 8pm for the month of December. Her quarters. She looked up at him, waiting for his agreement. She signed the paper, pushed it over to him, and handed him the quill. He signed it as well, and fought back the urge to shake her hand as though they were leaders at a G8 summit or politicians completing a public debate.

That was that.

December 1st was just four days away.

_What on earth had he done?_


	9. The First Night

Three days.

That was how long Hermione had left in this world as a virgin. Technically, it was three days, four hours, and seventeen minutes, and technically, that was only the time she had until their 8pm appointment, but why mince words?

It was three days away.

Should she call it an appointment? A meeting? A date? Hermione wasn't sure. If she remembered the words of their agreement, she knew she wasn't to call it anything _aloud_. She understood Severus' adamant insistence on that issue. No talking about their agreement. Yes, they were coming together for the sole purpose of a physical relationship, but no, nothing about this was something you would want published in the society papers of the Daily Prophet. No matter how badly she wanted to tell someone what was going on, she would not talk to anybody—not Harry or Ron or Ginny or even Luna, who might actually support her. She wanted Severus to know that she was a woman of her word.

Her last class of the week ended quite literally with a bang. After spending the hour working on Confundus Charms, several of her seventh years had yet to recover their balance. Poor, disoriented Fitz-Lloyd Tambling-Goggin ambled into the doorframe as he attempted to leave, taking out himself and three other Hufflepuffs in one fell swoop. Hermione liberally doled out the medicinal chocolate and sent them all to see Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary. Tambling-Goggin had already been cursed in life with that ludicrous name, she thought. He didn't need any additional facial scarring to add to the mix.

Hermione's lesson plans for the upcoming week were already finished, so now she just had three days, four hours, and fifteen minutes to contemplate the seduction of Severus Snape. Should she change anything in her quarters? Select clothing to wear, even if said clothing would hopefully not be worn for long? Mood lighting? Food? Drinks? She had never mapped out her own deflowering before, and she didn't know where to turn.

What would Severus even like? She considered what she knew of his tastes. He was a fish and chips man and he loved bitter things. Should she ask Tilly to prepare something for him to eat? If the books and the movies were correct, she was supposed to lean towards melted chocolate and strawberries and champagne for this sort of thing, but Severus hated strawberries and preferred an old-fashioned ale to champagne. Chocolate could work if it was dark chocolate, but anything edible in the bedroom was likely too advanced for them at this stage in their relationship. She could shelve that one for at least the first week or two of their arrangement. If he had poured melted chocolate or spooned whipped cream on any of his previous lovers' bodies, perhaps he would bring some himself.

Her bedroom was serviceable, if a bit on the plain side. A comfortable four-poster, a carved armoire she had inherited from her great aunt Marjorie, and a lumpy chaise from the school's rotating staff collection that she placed at the foot of her bed filled the room. From the windows along the far wall, she could see the greenhouses and the Forbidden Forest in the distance. She had a firm mattress, one that had a little bounce to it. Would that be preferable to a soft bed, considering their plans for the room? She just didn't know. She also had cotton sheets of a reasonably high thread count, but she considered upgrading. Were new sheets really necessary? Would they make Severus any more at ease? She pulled out a small notepad and scratched the words "satin sheets—ask Tilly."

Realizing that she had allowed her mind to wander for nearly twenty minutes, Hermione snapped herself back into the present. She straightened out the chairs and desks that had been knocked out of place, flicked the classroom lights off, and headed down the hall. The staircases connecting the Charms corridor to the hospital wing were notoriously flighty, so she took the long way around the west courtyard to check in on Mister Tambling-Goggin's improvement.

She ducked her head in the Infirmary. All the beds were empty, which was as rare an occasion at Hogwarts as Argus Filch tap-dancing down the hallways.

"Poppy?" she called.

The school matron bustled out in her tidy uniform carrying a stack of freshly laundered linens. "Ah, Hermione! How are you, my dear?"

"Surprised," she replied. "I sent some students down here after class. I thought they would still be here."

"Oh, I made quick work of them all and sent them on their way," the woman said. She walked up and down the room, placing a blanket at the foot of each bed. "Ida and John had minor scrapes, and Fitz-Lloyd's nose should heal up in a day or two."

"Excellent news," Hermione said. "I thought about healing them in class myself, but I wasn't sure which spell you would use to clean up Fitz-Lloyd."

"Most people would just use a simple Episkey, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve," she answered, nodding slyly. "I'll show you during our next Healing session."

Hermione thanked the woman for her thoughtfulness.

"Did everything resolve itself with you and Severus, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Er..." Hermione wasn't quite sure what to say. _Yes, Poppy, we've agreed to shag each other silly for the next month. Everything is quite resolved_. She liked Poppy. She didn't want to give the woman a heart attack. "Er... I think it's safe to say that we've come to terms with one another."

The nurse came over to her, patting her hand. "He's a complicated man, Hermione."

"That's an understatement of the highest order," she agreed. "Sometimes he's a stubborn arse, but I find that I like him."

"I'm glad to hear that," Poppy said. "He has a difficult time trusting people. He deserves more than he's received from this life, and most people can't be bothered to see the man beneath his buttoned-up exterior."

Hermione nodded, knowing she was about to see—and touch and smell and taste—rather a lot of the man beneath his buttons.

The two women refilled the medicinal potions together and headed down to the Great Hall for supper.

:

Over the weekend, Hermione idly wondered if Severus would stand her up.

He wouldn't back out now, she didn't think. Not after they had spent so much time rehashing what they both wanted out of this. Hermione had been surprised by his requests, but he seemed so determined to keep things professional between them, and she was willing to agree to almost anything he demanded. They were friends, of a sort, and Hermione was confident that they would be able to enjoy themselves and respect one another in the process.

That didn't help the nerves that kept her stomach on edge and her brain a frenzy all weekend long. The anticipation was driving her to point of questionable sanity, so she set aside Saturday morning for a long run around the Quidditch pitch and through the Forbidden Forest. About halfway through her jog, she remembered how much she hated exercise. And sweating without a purpose. Since she couldn't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, she was stuck walking back slowly through the downed trees.

She was struck by the sudden desire to seek out one of the unicorns in the forest. After all, this might be her last chance to pet one, and the little ones were incredibly soft. She meandered through the trees, hoping to come across part of the herd that lived there. No such luck. Ultimately, she returned home to Hogwarts empty-handed.

:

Most of Monday went by in a blur of jittery nerves.

Hermione's final class of the day, first year Ravenclaws and Slytherins, ended at 4pm. While waiting for Severus, she had four full hours to fret herself in circles.

Tilly took her stack of preparation notes and helped her with all the changes in her quarters, from preparing some light finger foods to offer him in her living room to changing out her cotton sheets for a shiny, satiny set. Hermione was surprised at just how slick the new sheets were.

She bypassed a quick shower for a luxurious bath in the scented bath oils Luna had given her for her birthday. Ah, bliss. Sandalwood and lavender and cocoa butter softened her skin and helped to drain her anxieties away. To distract herself from her racing thoughts, she pulled out a novel from the waterproofed bookshelf she kept beside the tub and lost herself in a story about the British Empire in nineteenth-century India.

Her warning timer buzzed in the middle of an chapter, telling her to extract herself from the warm water. She flipped back a few pages to the beginning of the chapter, set a bookmark in place, and returned it to the bookshelf. Then she summoned a large bath towel to wrap herself in, ran her fingers through her curls, and went to her closet. She slipped on a simple silk robe, a dark navy that highlighted her fair skin. Wrapping her hair in a towel, avoiding drying charms and hoping for the best, she tiptoed around the cold floor. Finally, she gave in and tugged on her clunky shearling slippers—so terribly ugly, and yet terribly warm.

She surveyed the room. Silk robe that clung nicely to her curves and dipped low at the center? Check. Satin sheets, tucked in with house-elf finesse? Check. Severus' favorite dark ale in the living room? Check. A plethora of candles to provide ambient light throughout the bedroom and a fire burning low in the living room? Check and check.

Hermione paced the length of her hallway, checking her clock each time she entered her living room. She loved her quarters bathed in the soft light of the fire. Shadows scattered around the room, playing off objects as a log fell from the andirons. The smell of the wood, burning slowly, heightened her awareness of all her senses. Her life was going to change, and change forever, any minute now.

On her thirteenth trip down the hall, she heard his knock. Had she believed in divination, she would have taken number thirteen for a bad omen, but Hermione Granger was a sensible woman.

Three loud raps.

He was early.

She ran to the door, nearly tripping over her slippered feet.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Before she could even say 'Hello,' she found a hideous bouquet of chrysanthemums thrust in her chest.

She smiled. He was nervous, too.

He was dressed simply as always, in a black Oxford shirt and black trousers. His buttons were a pearly white, she observed, and the top one was left undone. This was quite a change of pace for him, sartorially speaking, as he usually came fully-buttoned and hidden under billowing robes. She could always finagle him out of him robes on their chess nights, but he never undid those buttons.

"Hello, Severus," she said in what she hoped was an inviting and seductive manner. She walked towards her kitchen. "Thank you for the flowers. I'll just put them in water, shall I?"

"Or don't," he responded, "and they shall dessicate properly."

Hermione heard the door close behind her while she filled the vase and set the mums inside. When she came back out into the sitting room, he wasn't there. She put the vase on her coffee table and peeked around the corner.

He was standing just inside the door, staring at its handle."Please come in," she said. "Er... Can I get you anything—something? A drink? Something to drink? Torfolk brought some of that Nilly ale you—that is, _Norfolk_ brought some of that _Tilly_ —er... Tilly brought you beer."

Good lord, she needed to stop talking. She could understand now why he wanted her to shut her trap during this whole affair.

He looked at her then. For the first time that night, really.

Hermione fought back a blush as his eyes swept down her body, lingering on her breasts.

When he made it to her feet, he let loose a hearty guffaw. He had a lovely laugh when he bothered to use it. "You dressed up for me, hmm?" he asked, pointing to her ratty slippers.

"You try walking around here barefoot," she said accusatorially. "It's bloody cold in December."

"I can see that," he stated, nodding at the nipples that could be clearly seen.

She raised her chin and wrapped her arms around her chest defensively, a pointless move considering what they were planning on doing any minute now.

"But I will agree to your demands," he said, untying his laces and taking off his dragon hide boots to reveal pale, hairless feet.

 _Was it possible for a man to have pretty feet?_ she wondered. If so, this one did. Neville's and Ron's were covered in curly hair, and Harry had strange-looking, knobby toes.

Severus took out his wand and cast a warming charm onto his feet. "It's a simple spell, Granger. Perhaps I should ask Filius to find you a Charms professor."

"Touché," she said, toeing off her slippers. "But I refuse to believe that it's as satisfying as the soft cushion that a pair of—"

A rush of wind swept through the room.

The fire went out.

The candles, too.

Her voice failed.

Hermione tried to speak again, but no words escaped her throat. She could shout out muffled sounds and cries, but no actual words ever came out, no matter how hard she tried.

Her heart began beating wildly, and she waved her arms in front of her, trying to feel out Severus in the dark.

Finally, she found a bony elbow and latched on.

Severus seemed content to let her grip him tightly.

Her wand! She flicked a spell to revive the fire, but it didn't make a dent in the pitch black night. She tried the candles next. Nothing.

Had Severus been so offended by her talking that he silenced her himself and doused all the lights? No. He wouldn't have... would he? They had been fine, she thought, just a few minutes earlier. He wasn't fighting her now, and he wasn't moving. She didn't think his wand was out, but she didn't think it would be appropriate to pat him down so early in the evening. He wouldn't have done this.

_If it wasn't Severus's spell, and she knew it wasn't her own, what on earth had happened?_

If he didn't do it, did he know what was going on? He wasn't moving. Perhaps he was waiting for her to take the lead.

Now she had a choice to make. She could either lead him to the door, where they would surely find light from the heavy iron sconces that lined the corridors of the castle, or she could ignore it and lead him to her bedroom.

Well.

If the anticipation had driven her crazy over the weekend, one more day might just kill her. Not to mention the twenty-nine years of pent up sexual frustration.

So Hermione took one of his hands in hers, and gave it a slight tug. When she walked to her bedroom, he allowed her to lead him to the bed and nudge him to sit down. She sat down beside him, right next to him so that their legs were almost touching, and considered the absurdity of the situation.

She was about to have sex with Severus Snape. If you had told her that a year ago, she would have laughed outright at the prospect. They were colleagues, and he was so stand-offish. But now, somehow, it made sense. She just wished she could talk to him, wished she could hear his voice in return, wished she simply knew what kind of magic kept them bound in the dark together.

For a split second, she considered using British Sign Language to spell out her questions in his hands, but she wasn't sure it would do them any good. Did he even know BSL? Probably not. It would likely annoy him, and that was the last thing she wanted now.

Sighing, Hermione let herself relax against his shoulder, tucking her arm under his and weaving their fingers together. His breathing slowed down, and she could feel him soften by her side. She scooted a tic closer, matching her ankle with his ankle, her knee with his knee, her hip with his hip. Resting her head on his shoulder, she enjoyed the warmth of him along the length of her body.

It was nice.

He leaned into her ever so slightly.

They sat there in the dark, the two of them, simply holding hands.

He smelled divine, all rough herbs and pine.

It was even lovelier than she'd imagined, and she had been doing a lot of imagining lately. Before this, Hermione hadn't allowed herself to get close to him. A quick hug, a peck on the cheek, a handshake—that was the extent of it. But now...

 _Now_.

She reached across his chest, placing her hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart. After a minute, she reached up to trace his features.

She did this not knowing that at the same time, he was attempting to shift her down on her back.

His head turned sideways.

She ended up poking the man in something... concave? Was that his ear? Eye? His nostril?

He jerked backwards, knocking her over onto the bed.

And nobody had warned her just how _slippery_ those satin sheets were.

She maneuvered up as best she could, trying to grab his shirt or anything for balance, and—

That. _That_ was definitely his nose.

A warm liquid trickled out of it.

His hands shooed her off him and he tore out of the room, fumbling slightly at the door, but then making it out of her room at an incredibly fast pace in the dark.

Hermione followed after him and made it to the living room, when—

_SLAM!_

The door closed.

The fire roared to life.

The candles began to flicker.

She looked around her room, noting the trail of blood drops across the floor. The vase filled with chrysanthemums on her coffee table. His boots, forgotten inside the door.

And she could finally speak again, words to nobody in particular. "What the bloody hell happened here?"

This was a disaster _._


	10. The Healing

Hermione stopped at her door, trying to picture Severus bolting to his quarters, barefoot with a nosebleed. What if some students were out and about? It was still early in the evening. They could be.

She wanted to follow after him immediately, but it would never do to have one of her students catch her running down to the dungeons in the silk robe she was wearing. She donned a set of heaving black robes, summoned some shoes from her closet, and picked up his boots. Then she ran down through the castle, heading for the dungeons.

The only students she met in the corridors were a pair of Ravenclaw prefects on their nightly rounds. When she heard their footsteps, she hastily shrunk Severus' boots and tucked them away in her pocket. They said their "Hello, professor"s as she trotted past them, and she prayed to any deity with ears to hear that neither spotty fifteen-year-old had any skill in Legilimency. They probably thought she was dashing to the library to check out a book before it closed, or something else reasonably stuffy. They didn't need to know the truth.

She was completely out of breath when she finally arrived at Severus' quarters. She knocked on the door and waited. At first, he didn't answer, but when she persistently kept on hammering away, letting him know that she wasn't going anywhere, he opened the door.

About an inch or two.

Through the sliver of light, she could see one dark eye.

"Severus, may I come in?" she asked. "Please?"

He sighed. "Whatever for?"

She enlarged and held up his boots.

The door swung open, and Hermione stepped inside.

"This is a bad idea, Granger," he said, his back turned on her as he walked towards his sitting room.

"It was just bad circumstances," she insisted. She dropped his boots by the door and followed him in. "I think it's safe to say that we shouldn't be left to our own devices in the dark." She smiled at him, trying to help him see the humor in what had just happened. "We may accidentally kill each other."

When he turned around, she caught a glimpse of a handkerchief held to his face. She winced. "I'm so sorry about this," she said, reaching up to indicate his bloody nose. "Here." Grabbing him by the hand, she lead him into his bathroom. "Let me. I'm pretty good at this now."

It said something about his unspoken faith in her abilities that he let her help him. He silently submitted to her pokings and proddings as she assessed the damage. He even let her push him to take a seat on the counter, and she stood between his legs while she worked. They were about the same height when he was sitting like this, she noted. She set her wand down on the counter, running her fingers through his hair to feel his scalp and turn his head while she looked at him more closely.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a faint color came to his cheeks.

Thankfully, nothing was broken. Somehow she'd given the poor man a bloody nose in their kerfuffle. She'd also scratched him in a few places she didn't even know she had reached—behind his left ear and along his jaw on the right side of his face. A few healing spells later, and the bleeding stopped.

Next, Hermione filled the sink basin with warm soapy water and gathered a few fluffy towels. Her heavy black sleeves impeded her arm movement, so she slipped them off and threw them in a corner of his bathroom. It was awkward standing there in nothing but mismatched leather flats and a revealing silk robe, but she owed him at least some basic healing and care. She soaked a washcloth in the water and slowly, gingerly pressed it to his skin, wiping the blood from around his face.

Standing in front of him, she felt the heat emanating from his body. There was something else, too—a kind of electricity, an energy and an intensity from his nearness that she couldn't quite place and that she didn't want to leave. She supposed that she had been closer to him earlier that evening in the dark of her bedroom, but here, under the lights of the room, face to face, it was different. His eyes, fathomless and black, were focussed on her lips rather than her eyes, and his breath, an endearing combination of minty toothpaste and fortifying gin, was hot on her cheek.

She wondered if he was thinking of kissing her.

Something in the back of her mind reminded her that she would have been in his arms, really in his embrace, had things gone more smoothly this evening. She would have been—should have been—kissing him right now.

Hermione was almost finished tending his wounds. Placing one hand on his leg, she leaned around him to wring out the washcloth again in the basin.

"There," she said, her voice a whisper as she ran the warm cloth over his face one last time. "That's better, isn't it?"

His head moved almost imperceptibly. A nod of sorts.

And Hermione felt a continual pull, the slightest of tugs, towards him. It wasn't him, of course, or anything physical at all. He wasn't even touching her, just allowing her to touch him. She set the cloth down, pulling the plug to drain the water from the sink.

She could have stepped away then, could have turned away from him and walked back to her quarters alone. They would eat breakfast beside one another and all of their colleagues at the High Table, go on their separate ways, and meet up again in her quarters that night according to their overwrought plans.

It was just that she just didn't want to.

A moment passed, and neither Hermione nor Severus moved.

She wanted him, _yes_ , but more than that, she wanted him to want her in return. If only he would lift his eyes to hers or pull her closer or even raise his hand to touch her face. Anything.

He didn't.

Hermione leaned in to press a kiss to his nose.

His eyes flew open, but he didn't pull away from her.

So she tilted her head and kissed the scrape she had recently healed, just there beneath his jaw. His skin was surprisingly soft there, and still pink from her healing spells.

His breathing came faster and grew erratic as her lips touched his skin.

Enveloping him into her warmth, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nudged his head to one side, pressing a final kiss to that spot behind his left ear.

Finally, he responded. His arms came up around her waist, his fingertips resting on her hips. He was tentative and careful at first, as if he were unsure that she wanted him to touch her or as though she were a skittish animal he'd met in the woods, just about to flee from him. Before long, his grip on her tightened and he pulled her closer, nuzzling her cheek with his own.

She tried to steady the trembling of her hands, but was having little luck. He could surely hear the pounding of her heart as it threatened to vacate her chest.

And he hadn't even kissed her yet.

Should she ask him to? Demand it? Hermione was a progressive woman. She could surely just kiss him herself. She pulled back from him just enough to look into his eyes and offer him a reassuring smile.

"You see," she said, her voice huskier than she wanted it to be, "we do much better with higher visibility." She ran her fingers through the fine hair at the nape of his neck.

He smiled a sly smile, looking at her as if he was trying to dissect her. "So why did you cut the lights, Granger?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. That wasn't me."

"It wasn't me, either," he responded.

"Do you still want them off, anyway?" she asked, sliding one hand down the open buttons at his throat. She undid a third and a fourth button, exposing a few black hairs scattered across his sternum. "Do they need to stay off?"

He smirked. "I rather enjoy the use of all my limbs. If time alone with you in the dark means that I'll lose one or more of them, I find I am willing to renegotiate."

She lowered her head and kissed his chest once, twice.

He groaned.

"I know you don't want to ruin our friendship, Severus, but—"

A loud knocking at his door interrupted her question.

Severus slid off the bathroom counter, buttoning his top buttons with one hand. "Stay here," he whispered to her. "It's probably a student." He swung his black robes around his body, and answered the door.

From where she was standing behind his bathroom door, she could easily identify Filius as the guest. She could make out bits and pieces of his conversation with the Potions master as the headmaster consulted Severus about some of the members of his house. She heard a "Yes, thank you" and a "No, I'll meet you in the hospital wing" before the door swung shut with a thump.

Then Severus came back to her. "Students in a fight," he said brusquely. "I shouldn't be long, but..." His voice trailed off.

"May I stay?" she asked. "Or I can go if you'd prefer it."

He hesitated for a beat as if making a decision. "I may return with Filius. If that's the case, it would not be a good idea for him to see you here."

She understood, so she turned to follow him out the door.

He put a hand on her shoulder, directing her back into his quarters. "You may..." he began. "You may wait in my bedroom, if you choose to stay."

She beamed.

"But don't touch anything," he snapped, "and keep your pretty little nose to yourself."

She placed her hand on her hips in indignation. "Of course."

"If I'm gone long, you know where the books are."

She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I'll be waiting."

:

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she was covered by the grey cotton quilts in Severus' bed.

Alone.

She had taken his invitation last night to heart, pulling out a book of Oscar Wilde's short stories from his shelf and bringing it back in his bedroom to read. Whatever Filius had needed him for had taken much longer than he had expected, since she had made it through nearly half the book before falling asleep. She hadn't remembered crawling under the covers of Severus' bed, since that seemed a bit presumptuous, but perhaps she did it in her sleep.

She had been rather touched that he trusted her enough to let her behind his carefully tended privacy walls. When was the last time he'd had a woman in his bedroom? When was the last time he'd had anyone in there?

Everything had been ordered, and even the furniture lay in perpendicular angles as though it were snapped down on a grid.

It wasn't light yet, and he still hadn't returned, so Hermione grabbed her shoes and her robes and prepared to sneak back to her quarters. When she entered his sitting room, she saw the man at last. He had Transfigured on of his leather arm chairs into what looked like a rather uncomfortable sofa, and he slept with his limbs splayed over the edge of the temporary furniture. His mouth hung open as he slept, and a faint snore came from his impressive appendage.

Idiot man. He could have just crawled into bed with her and saved himself the backache.

 _Oh._ She realized that Severus had probably found her asleep on his bed and tucked her in to stay warm. He was quite sweet when he couldn't be called out on it.

He didn't strike her as the best person to wake up unexpectedly, so she left him where he was. Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a few spells to lengthen the chair to accommodate his body and cushion the bottom so he would sleep more comfortably. Her final move before she left was to take the quilt from his bed and place it over him for additional warmth.

Quite pleased that she hadn't stirred the sleeping giant, Hermione cast a Silencing Charm on the door as she left Severus' quarters so he wouldn't hear it shut.

Hermione returned to her quarters, cleaned up the blood on her floor from the previous evening, and snuck in an extra hour of sleep in her own bed in those ridiculous satin sheets.

 _All in all_ , she thought, _that was fairly successful._ No, she hadn't actually gotten Severus in bed, and no, she hadn't peeled him out of many of his layers, but they seemed to have come to a new understanding. She didn't think she had to be shy when she wanted to reach for him now, and she knew that he wanted her as well.

A large part of her wanted to curse Filius within an inch of his life for interrupting them, but after reconsidering, she thought they probably needed to ease their way into something physical anyway. It was better that they were interrupted before they began snogging one another in earnest. If he had, Hermione felt confident in saying that the Headmaster would not have wanted to be castrated by that obscure charm she was familiar with.

Tonight. Tonight would be the night.

Before leaving for breakfast, she called Tilly in to change things around for tonight. "You can burn the sheets," she told the house elf, "or use them for anything you'd like."

Tilly looked so sad then as she apologized for her bad, bad sheets, and Hermione had to reassure the elf that she had done everything exactly as requested. "I just miss my own cotton sheets," she insisted. "That's really the only change I need from yesterday. May I have them back on my bed tonight?"

"Change the sheets," Tilly repeated. "Everything else the same?"

"Everything else the same," Hermione confirmed. Severus always appreciated the food and drinks that Tilly provided for them.

The elf agreed, telling her Mistress that she would do everything she could to make Hermione and her dark man happy.


	11. The Second Night

Tuesdays were Hermione's favorite day of the week. It made sense to her; weekends were unpredictable, all her students were sluggish nightmares on Mondays, and it was downhill from Wednesday through to the end of the week. Tuesdays were days filled with possibilities.

This particular Tuesday, Hermione was teaching a full load. Her N.E.W.T. level classes worked on Homonculous Charms in the morning. Only about half of the students got the knack of the charm by the end of the hour, so she sent them back to their dormitories with assignments to help them focus. After lunch, a hoard of her second years marched down to the greenhouses to meet her and Professor Longbottom for their afternoon classes. Hermione's big project at Hogwarts this year was to try to team up with her colleagues for interdisciplinary work. Today it began with Herbology and Charms unit was the first one implemented. In this lesson, the professors began with all the basic pruning and potting charms that could be used in the greenhouse, although they would be working up to more advanced charms for specific plants later on in the month. Hermione and Neville had combined her Double Charms class with his Double Herbology, so every blasted twelve-year-old in the castle was there. Even with two professors to corral them, it was fairly overwhelming. Never again.

Exhausted, Hermione took a hot, soapy bath to collect herself before going down to the Great Hall for supper. Being able to charm her books impervious to water was a such a perk of being a witch. It would have saved her library from all its wrinkly pages as a young girl.

She dropped into an empty chair between Headmaster Flitwick and Neville, and spent most of the meal rehashing the young professors' work that afternoon. Flitwick was eager to take their ideas into other subject areas, having each of the other professors combine lessons with another instructor. This was the first change in school curriculum since Professor Binns was flesh and blood.

From where she was seated in the center of the High Table, she could watch Severus eating alone at the end. He was silent, ignoring the chatter of Hooch beside him. Hermione sighed. She hated when he cut himself off from the people around him.

When she arrived at Hogwarts, she had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Severus was, for the most part, well liked by his colleagues. Part of it was regard for what he had done in the war. When the truth came out about Dumbledore's demands of him, the Wizarding world threw pardons and accolades on him from every direction, oblivious to how uncomfortable the attention made him. With the exception of Poppy, the other staff members didn't try to understand the man. Instead, they appreciated his remarkable talent and latched onto whatever they had in common. He and Hagrid extracted strange things from the Forbidden Forest together, he and Madame Hooch regaled each other with the filthiest jokes she'd ever heard, and he and Neville... Well, Neville hadn't cracked him yet. Maybe someday.

So when she saw him, sullen and detached, she was concerned. When he got up to leave before dinner was over, she dashed over and asked him to join her earlier than their usual time. That way, she argued, they could still squeeze in a game or two before getting down to other affairs.

:

When supper was over, Hermione prepared her rooms and herself with care. Tonight the lace knickers that filled her drawers were finally going to make their not-quite-public debut. She also donned her navy satin robe, but remembering the way Severus mocked her slippers, traded those out for a large shearling rug in front of the fireplace. It had cost a pretty penny, but she was willing to invest in multifunctional pieces for her rooms.

She could envision a variety of uses for this rug.

When Severus knocked around 7 o'clock, the candles and the fireplace illuminated the cozy room and all its contents. His bouquet of chrysanthemums was placed in the center of her dining table. The chess board was set up on the coffee table, with four bottles of his dark ale and a plate filled with her chocolates beside it.

Hermione answered the door with a grin on her face. "Tonight's my lucky night. I just know it."

The color drained from his face.

 _Oh, Merlin_. She'd offended his delicate sensibilities again. Before she could stop herself, she was babbling. "At... er... chess. Chess." Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal. "I've been reading up on the Russian masters and their opening moves, you see. I found this book over in the library at Grimmauld Place. I was over at Harry and Ginny's last weekend watching James and Al, and they sleep all the time—well, not all the time, but they have an extremely early bedtime, if you can wrangle them into bed, and sometimes you want to—wrangle them, that is, or maybe just tie them down with ropes so they stop thrashing about when all you—"

He pressed his fingers to her lips to quiet her.

Even with so brief a touch, she could feel the callouses on the side of his index finger. He had them on both hands, acquired because of the way he held a stirring rod. Otherwise, his skin was soft and warm.

"You will lose handily, Granger," he whispered, leaning down beside her ear. "If you don't think that I spent the majority of my time in the library when I was forced into that God-forsaken dilapidated monstrosity, you would be mistaken."

Hermione started to feel a little hot under her robes. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

He pulled away from her. "I've already read that book." Then he marched down the hallway to her sitting room, taking off his outer robes and hanging them over the back of her yellow chinoiserie armchair. He opened one of the ales Tilly had laid out and poured it into a glass. "Authored by Botvinnik, yes?"

"Yes." She followed him into her room and sat upon the sofa.

"Then you cannot trick me with the Albin countergambit," he said. He handed her the glass, then opened a second ale for himself. "Or the Elephant or From's gambit. I am already familiar with them. The Fried Liver Attack? I know that one as well."

"So defensive, Severus," she said, regaining her composure. She smoothed down the front of her robe with slightly trembling hands. "I never thought of it as 'tricking you.' I'm thinking of it as 'equalling the playing field.' Mark my words, I _will_ beat you one of these days."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Such a pity to see a woman suffering from delusions at such a young age." He tut-tutted and took his regular spot in her yellow chair, and she curled up in her spot in the corner of the sofa.

Hermione took this as a personal challenge. "You're an arse. You will live to regret those words, because I will hound you until you finally slip up. I don't care if it takes fifty years. I'll do it."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Will you?"

She was more than a little distracted during the first match. Had he always smelled this delicious? Perhaps, but she had never noticed before. Now that she was aware of it, it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself rather than climbing on top of him and snogging him senseless. There didn't appear to be a smooth transition from pushing bits of ivory around on a square box into stripping each other naked and pushing each other's bits around, so she just moved the pieces as quickly as possible. While she was mulling over ways to seduce the Potions master, she accidentally traded her bishop for his knight and her queen for his pawn. So much for impressing him with her newfound chess knowledge.

She noticed that his eyes bounced back and forth between the chessboard and the clock. Perhaps he was waiting for a time to sweep her up into his arms? If she could be distracted into stupidity by the thought of his touch, surely she could turn the tables on him.

Deciding to test this theory, Hermione began the second game by shifting in her seat. Her robe slipped open to one side, exposing the length of her leg and the periwinkle lace on her tiny knickers.

He started off the match by pushing his pawn three spaces forward.

"Ah, ah, ah," she teased him. "That's not a legal move, Severus." Hermione picked up his pawn and moved it back a space, conveniently letting her robe loosen up around her décolletage.

He grumbled and knocked back half of his ale. He snuck looks at her whenever he thought she wasn't observing him, so she deliberately put all her focus on the chessboard. The longer she ogled the board, the longer he ogled her legs. The longer he ogled her legs, the worse he played. Chocolate worked, too. When she ate a piece slowly, his eyes dragged up from her gams to her lips.

Five minutes in, she had taken two pawns and both his knights. All her pieces were in tact. It was a December miracle.

All was going well until Hermione made one crucial mistake—eye contact. She had been so taken by the fire in his eyes as he examined her body, and then he lifted his eyes to hers. They met in mutual understanding.

In that moment, he knew. He knew that she'd been diverting his focus and taking advantage of his weakness for her, and he knew it even without resorting to Legilimency.

He frowned. "You, madame, are a manipulative deviant."

Before last week, Hermione might have thought he was upset with her. Now she knew better. She smirked, helping herself to another piece of chocolate. "I'm an innocent flower, Severus. I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

He stood up and loomed over her. With one deft hand, he pulled her robe edge to one side. She had hoped he would tug it open, but unfortunately, he pulled it more tightly closed.

Staring valiantly at the chess board rather than the woman seated across from him, he turned the chess match around quickly.

Ten minutes in, and he had taken three of her pawns, a knight, and a rook. She had taken an additional two pawns and a bishop, and was closing in on his king.

After a few dodgy moves and the loss of a bishop, she cornered his queen. His only options were to lose her now or to sacrifice a rook and give up the queen in his next move. He did the former, losing his most valuable piece on the board.

Hermione smiled sweetly at Severus and swept his queen to the side. "So sorry for your loss."

He scowled.

Kicking herself with regrets, she realized that she should have pulled this stunt ages ago. He was helpless in the face of her bare skin, and now she was actually winning.

Hermione would have continued gloating then, but as unexpectedly as it had come the previous night, a wind flooded through the rooms. The lights flipped off. The fire went out. And again, Hermione found that all the words had been stolen from her mouth.

She groused to herself, dropping her head back against the sofa. _Again?_ She didn't think Severus had lied to her, but she had no other explanation for why this kept happening.

A few seconds passed, and then a scuffle from his chair sounded throughout the rooms. It was followed by the crash and soft thumping noises of the stone chess pieces falling to the rug, and Hermione felt Severus climbing over her legs to take a seat beside her.

She held her breath. Severus could have run to the door like last night or fumbled with his wand, but he didn't. He came to _her_. She forced herself to stay still, waiting for him to make a move, to do something, anything. She had all but given up hope when she felt his fingertips graze her waist in the dark. When she gasped at his touch, he withdrew his hand.

After the frustration of the previous evening, Hermione wasn't about to let him play timid with her. Before she could second guess herself, she turned in her seat and swung a leg over him, straddling his lap. His hands were down at his sides again, so she picked them up, lightly wrapping them around her lower back. She wound her arms around his neck and closed the distance between them, craning her neck up to breathe in the smell of him.

Hermione had never let herself be so forward with a man before. Everything she'd attempted with Severus up until this point had been awkward at best, but here he was, reaching for her, and here she was, wanting him. She cleared her throat, trying to keep her nerves at bay. Her primary goal was not to maim or injure the man between her legs in any way. What did it say about her that Hermione had to concentrate on not sending her soon-to-be lover to the infirmary? After their first night together, Hermione was cautious. It wouldn't do to cripple the man before he had a chance to roger her senseless.

She leaned back a bit and traced his face with her fingers, willing him to kiss her. _If she could just demand it and say the words!_ They were going to have to sort out whatever curse they had triggered, because this was not going to work. In the meanwhile, she wracked her brain for what she knew of Morse Code, when—

He kissed her.

He landed somewhere on her nose, but she didn't mind once he slid his mouth down to hers. All right, so her nostril itched a bit now, but after pulling back from him to scratch it, they set about kissing in earnest.

She could tell from the way he attacked her lips that he didn't have much experience with this sort of thing. It was astonishing, since she was the virgin here. He pressed his lips to hers firmly, but then faltered, not knowing what to do next. Hermione found it unbearably endearing, but a rising panic was emanating from his narrow chest. She placed one hand over his heart, trying to reassure him, then kissed him once, twice, and again on the corner of his mouth. He tasted of the ale and chocolate they had been sharing, things she considered almost as irresistible as him. Taking the lead, she nibbled on his lower lip and stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue.

If she could have spoken to him, she would have told him she cared for him, told him she wanted his kisses. Told him that with a nose that size, he really shouldn't be having so much trouble breathing through all of this. _Dear, stupid man._ He seemed to forget to breathe when his lips were attached to hers, and when they pulled apart, he gasped for air before rushing back at her for more.

Mercifully, he was a quick study. She didn't fancy levitating him to the infirmary and explaining that he had suffocated against her face, although Death by Kissing would secure Severus a unique place in the history books. It didn't take long before he mastered her mouth, her lips, and tongue. Had five minutes passed? Ten? More? _Gods, it was exhilarating!_ All rational thought left her then, replaced by a growing tension in the pit of her stomach and an awareness that plucked at her nerves from the ends of her fingers to the tips of her toes. His hands stroked the silk against her back, and he opened his mouth to her. Hermione had never been kissed like this before. She sighed happily. How had she gone without this before? It was as if there had been a tectonic shift in her world. She briefly considered redating her journal entries according to this moment: Anno Basi, the year of the kiss. Or Anno Severi, she thought more honestly. She had been kissed before, just not like this and not by him.

She laid down on her back on the length of the sofa, pulling him on top of her as she went. Now that he was more confident, he reached up and buried his hands in her hair. In any other circumstance, she would have been embarrassed by the noises she was producing, but here, in his arms, she was too far gone to care, purring in delight as he scratched her scalp and kissed her neck. The weight of him in the cradle of her hips was wonderfully intimate. A small part of her functional brain was confused by the sheer heat of their bodies, though. How was their skin this hot without the fire to keep them warm?

She needed more. Hermione clasped his hand, pulling it down to her breast.

And that's when it all went south. Startled, Severus pulled away, falling onto the floor on his back. Since his other hand was still tangled in her mane, she came tumbling after, yelping in pain and landing on him in a knot of limbs. His groan of agony was audible, and she could fill in the silent gaps with all the profanity she imagined he was trying to shout out loud. When she scooted off him and tried to sit up, she hit her head on the underside of the coffee table. A half-full glass of ale tipped over, dripping onto them both.

On a hunch, Hermione moved around him. She inadvertently stepped on his arm on the way, and couldn't stop the apology from coming out of her mouth, even though she knew the words died in her throat She felt her way down the hallway and threw open the door. Light flooded into the room from the hallway, but the fireplace didn't start up again as it had last time.

She tested her vocal chords, trying to speak. "Hello? Hello?" she asked no one in particular, but no sound came out. What was different? It had worked last time when Severus opened the door and left the room. Just to be sure, she poked her head outside. Seeing that the coast was clear, she stepped over the threshold into the corridor of Hogwarts and tried again. Still no change. Then she fastened the door closed behind her. "Hello? Hello?" she said again. She gasped. Her words echoed down the stone corridors. _It worked!_ Whatever kind of curse it was, it was triggered when one of them left her quarters.

Severus' bellows on the other side of the door pulled her out of her reverie.

"Fucking hell!" he cried from the living room. She came back in, closing the door behind her and throwing up a few Silencing Charms. If a student passed by now, they would wonder what a man's voice was doing in Professor Granger's quarters. "Oddslocks, _oddslocks_ , fuck!" She could hear him cursing a blue streak and what she thought was chess pieces flying into the wall.

All the lights in the room were back on, just as they had been before the blackout.

She padded down the hall back into her living room and surveyed the damage. It wasn't a pretty sight. She hoped the house-elves knew some stronger Cleaning Charms than she did; they did have special magic, after all. The chess pieces were scattered on the coffee table and the rug, and the clock on the wall told her that it was just shy of 9 o'clock. Severus was still lying on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, wet with beer and holding a fair number of curly hairs that he'd ripped from her head in their tumble. There were a few red lumps on his face.

"Are you all right?" She came closer.

He stretched out his arms above his head and groaned, "Try as you might, I am not dead."

Hermione kneeled by his side, helping him sit up. She now saw what he must have felt, as most of the hard stone pieces were under him at odd angles. "As much as I enjoyed that and expect many repeat performances," she said, smiling softly as she poked his chest, "did you have to knock over the board, Severus? I was winning!"

"Is that all you care about, Granger?" he asked, exasperated. "Bloody hell, woman, you've bloodied me twice in two days."

She looked him over carefully, lightly touching him as she studied his body. "Not to be difficult, Severus, but I don't see any blood."

"I feel a bruise coming on," he said, all but pouting. "As for your bloody chess game, I had no choice," he said. His expression was blank, which was the closest thing to a look of innocence as he was ever going to give. Harry's sons did the same thing after stealing biscuits from the kitchen, but Severus couldn't quite pull it off. Nevertheless, she appreciated the effort. "I couldn't see a thing and could only hear you breathing, Granger. What's a man to do?"


	12. The Portrait

These days, Severus spent most of his time completely dumbfounded. He still had no idea how Granger had conned him into this, but he wasn't complaining.

Scratch that. He _was_ complaining. But the complaints were not about her in any way. Not about the warmth of her lips or the sighs she made into his mouth or the way she tugged the hair at the base of his neck when she kissed him. It had been over thirty years since a woman had touched him, but he didn't think _that_ much had changed since then. Was it was too much to ask to return home without a bloody lip or a black eye? On that count, he and Granger were performing miserably.

At his count, he had 29 nights to go. He'd already wasted two of them by knocking her out and falling off her furniture, but he wasn't about to throw away any others. If he was only going to get this one month with Granger, he was going to make the most of it. Merlin knew nobody else was ever going to offer herself up for his delectation, even though she could do better than him just by looking under a rock in Hogsmeade or around a shelf in Flourish and Blotts.

If he'd been given his choice of all the women of his acquaintance, he couldn't think of anyone he would pick one over her. Hermione suited him in some strange way, even if she was a perfect mess. Too energetic for her own good, she couldn't fly a broom if she were thrown from the battlements of the castle. She was easily the most intelligent woman of his acquaintance, but she couldn't see more than three moves ahead in a game of chess. He assumed that she owned a comb, but he hoped she never learned to use it. And she had horrid taste. There was no accounting for anyone's, but hers was abysmal. At eleven, she voluntarily aligned herself with Potter and Weasley, illustrating poor judgment from a young age. One look at that yellow chair in her quarters and another at his face in the mirror told him that she hadn't grown any more discerning as she grew into womanhood.

Thoughts of her popped up completely unwarranted through his classes. He almost let himself get distracted while his fourth years were brewing an Alihotsy draught during their lesson. Something citrusy about the smell of the fourth brewing stage reminded him of her grapefruit perfume she wore, and he had to snap at Royston Munt when the boy caught him staring at his cauldron for a little too long. He even threatened the lad with a detention, but he left him off with a snarled warning this time.

The morning came and the afternoon went, and the students were abuzz with the fresh snow falling in the mountains. He ate his dinner at the end of the High Table in the Great Hall just a few seats down from her, and he did not talk to her or watch her eat her steak and kidney pie out of the corner of his eye. He didn't listen to her laughing at Hagrid's stories or going off on a tirade on changes in Parliament, and he certainly didn't notice the elegant shape of her collarbone peeking out from her robes.

:

A few minutes to 8 o'clock, and Severus was outside her door. He knocked three times.

She opened it wearing a pair of skintight sporty joggers and a lumpy purple sweater adorned with a brown ink well and quill. _Another Weasley creation, no doubt._

"I need to say this before I say anything else."

"Could I stop you even if I tried?"

She stared at her feet, which was not a good sign. "I just wanted to say that I am so very sorry that I keep injuring you, Severus, and I hope you know that it's entirely unintentional."

He smirked. "So you are not the world's worst assassin, hired by an old enemy of mine to finish me off?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus." She chuckled as she welcomed him into her quarters. Once he was inside, she sat him down on the sofa and took one hand in hers. "Also, I think we're cursed."

 _Hmm._ He had assumed that she was the one behind the lights and the other restrictions. It was the most reasonable explanation he could come up with. Certainly, she wished to experience sex, but given the limited options at her disposal, he knew she was stuck with him. The list of reasons concocted to talk herself into bed with him showed some level of interest, but not enough to accept him completely. With the lights off, she didn't have to see the scars that criss-crossed his body, and with his tongue tied, she didn't have to remind herself who she was with.

"It really wasn't you?" he asked.

"No!" She looked horrified. "I already told you that."

He gave a nod. He would think on that later. "So we are cursed, you say?"

"I can't see any other option," she declared. "I have figured out two pieces of the puzzle. First," she counted off on her fingers, "the spell begins every night at 8 o'clock sharp, and secondly, it ends when one of us leaves the room. More specifically, when one of us leaves and closes the door."

He frowned. "The enchantment is specific to the arrangement we made. Did you tell anyone about us?" A queer feeling hit him deep in his stomach at the utterance of the word "us." How unexpected. "Potter or his wife, perhaps? A Weasley or two or ten?"

"No, of course not!" she hissed. "I would never tell Harry about this."

"Poppy?"

"No," Hermione said, blushing and stroking his fingers with her own, "but I think she'd support the idea if she knew."

Severus didn't know what to say. Poppy would be thrilled to know that he had found a ladyfriend, but he doubted the woman would approve of what he and Hermione had agreed to. The nurse had watched him flounder socially for almost four decades now.

And the lamps went off again.

At least they both knew what they were dealing with. This time, both Hermione kept Severus' hand in hers, and they walked to her front door together. She stepped outside and closed it behind her, and Hermione's quarters were bathed in light once more.

Hermione opened the door, revealing a Potions master shaking his head. "What do we do now?" she asked.

"The obvious answer is that we wait outside your door at 7:59 and perform this silly task each night of December."

"That's absurd."

"The next obvious answer is that we figure out who is behind this and reverse it."

She gave a nod. "The latter, please."

Severus knew some of the secrets of Hogwarts castle from his tenure as headmaster. The castle liked to reveal itself to its tenants, although it never fully explained itself. Lifting up to his toes, Severus began to feel his way around the open door frame for some kind of disturbance. There was nothing. He brought out his wand and began casting several detection spells.

"Is it the castle?" Hermione asked, excited. "Are the founders prudes? Why would Hogwarts want to keep us apart?"

He answered her in a hushed voice so that no passersby could hear him. "Perhaps it doesn't want to keep us apart. Perhaps it thinks it is assisting us."

"If that's the case, it's done a terrible job of it." Hermione let out a hearty laugh as she watched him work. "And here I thought it stopped at moving staircases."

"You forget about the Room of Requirement. The castle had conjured up any number of things to satisfy people in that place." He dropped his hands, slipping his wand back into his pocket. There was no foul play on the door or the threshold of her rooms. "In any case, it is not Hogwarts that is doing this. Your door is clear."

Hermione stepped beside him, tracing her hands along the path where his had been. "How do you know? What would feel different?"

"Good grief, Granger," he drawled. "You simply must know everything, hmm?" He grabbed her elbow and pulled her back inside, snapping the door closed behind them. It was idiotic to continue talking openly where anyone could stumble upon them on an evening stroll. "I doubt you would be able to feel anything at all, not having served in the unenviable role of headmaster here. The castle responds to me differently now."

That look of realization dawning crossed her face, and she followed him back into her living room. She tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa and started a fire in the fireplace.

Severus paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, thinking aloud. "You say you told no one. I told no one. And yet..." His voice trailed off. "It matches what you wrote on that piece of paper you forced me to sign." He stopped in his place and turned to her. "What exactly did you write?"

"Er..." She leapt up and ran to her desk on the back wall, rifling through papers. "Let me find it."

The wording could be important. And the paper itself, too. Had Hermione charmed it unknowingly? Maybe they signed it with a charmed pen. They would never know until she found the damn thing, and he was growing impatient.

" _Accio Hermione's list_!"

Her head jerked up, a look of horror across her face. A rumbling from the desk started slow and quiet, and the drawers began to shake. The piece of furniture trembled as folders flew into the air, each one opening to release a piece of paper or two. The sheets of paper spun their way across the room at him, all landing in a stacked pile at his feet just over a foot and a half in height. The folders, suspended midair, dropped to the ground, and the desk quieted itself.

"Why the hell did you think that was a good idea?" she screeched. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the chaotic debris left behind. "You _know_ me, Severus. What did you think was going to happen?"

Properly chastened, he plucked the stack of papers off the floor and sat down. When she joined him, he handed her half the stack. "Now we look," he muttered.

Beginning with the list on top, Severus rifled his way through her papers. She had lists of hair products she was considering adding to her arsenal, lists of articles she was intending to read, and lists for her Herbology class with Longbottom. A list of what to buy everyone for the holidays back in 2007. A list of thank you cards for all the house-elves at Hogwarts. Partway through, he found the list detailing his shag status in her eyes, a list he had memorized and tucked away in a drawer next to his bed. She had added a few more items to it since he'd seen it last. Number 27 was "Kisses like a dream" and number 28? "Pinchable bottom." _Curious_ , he thought. She hadn't gotten her fingers on his arse yet. He kept going through her papers until she interrupted him, slapping his hand away from the sheet he'd been holding.

"I have it!" she cried, waving the note before him.

He glanced at it, seeing their signatures under four bullet points: _8:00pm, December 1-31, no talking, no light_. That was it. Using her wand, she scanned it for some kind of magical intervention. He waited for a response.

"Well?" he asked.

"It's clean." She sighed, frustrated that she still didn't have any answers.

She set the paper down on the coffee table, right next to the stack she'd been examining. What Severus saw there didn't surprise him. Another list among many, this one was a list of food items she always asked Tilly to prepare for the two of them in her room. It was the location that caught his notice—right next to the list that commanded the darkness of her quarters. Under the pretense of combining all her papers in a single pile, he looked at the other lists nearby to see if they, too, would have gone with the house-elf. One was the pros and cons of purchasing a used Peugot for the summer months. He doubted the elf could drive, so that one was for her eyes alone. Another was a list of laundry for the elf to complete.

He had an elf to cross-examine later.

In the meanwhile, Hermione swished and flicked all the papers back to their original locations, resorting to violence when a desk drawer got stuck midway through the process. He ignored her bustle behind him as she put away all her folders and closed the top of the secretary desk.

"At any rate," he said, trying to regain her attention, "the curse has been lifted for this evening."

"It has, hasn't it?" She came around the sofa and untied his bootlaces, the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. "Come with me."

He kicked off the dragonhide boots he wore all day, allowing her to pull him to his feet and drag him to her bedroom. Truthfully, he was relieved to see it under the glow of lamplight. There would be no more fumbling in the dark now that he knew the lay of the furniture. He oriented himself to the bed, making note of the chaise at the foot of her bed and the elaborate painting of an astronomer's work room on the wall to his left.

She reached up to unfasten the robes around his neck, pushing them aside, and laid kiss after kiss on his neck. She broke away to pull the bulky sweater off and tossed it on the chaise, revealing creamy skin and a pale pink camisole beneath.

Severus groaned at the sight of her. She was just an inch or so shorter than he was, but her hair more than made up the difference. It was surprisingly soft, much like the woman herself. He used to think she was untouchable, but now, after spending the last two evenings wrapped around her, he knew better. When Hermione touched him, he was a torn man. Half of him wanted to strip himself bare before her and let her feast upon his body. The other half needed all his buttons tightly buttoned so that she would never see the scarred, ugly man beneath. He didn't know how long her delusions would last, but he suspected her desire for him would shatter as soon as she saw him as he really was.

"We're going to make it one night without the need for first aid," she stated firmly. She climbed onto her bed, tugging his hand to encourage him to follow. "I just want you to feel good tonight."

 _Well_. He'd be a fool to argue with that. Putty in her hands, she laid him out where she wanted him on his stomach, his head at the foot of the bed and his socked feet up at its head. She bent his legs back at the knees, pulling the pillow out from underneath them. She tapped his head, and when he lifted it, she slid the pillow beneath it. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of her from her pillow.

"Ah, bonsoir!" called a high-pitched male voice.

Severus sat up, looking around for the disembodied voice.

"Over 'ere," it called again. Severus followed the movement in his peripheral vision. "'Ermione, this eez your beau?"

Severus reached for his wand and shot a Silencing Charm at the man holding an astrolabe in the portrait. He turned to Hermione. "Explain."

She blushed. "Severus, I'd like to introduce you to Bernard the Benign. Bernard, meet Severus."

The little man waved politely at him, then pointed at his mouth, asking to be released from the spell.

Severus hauled himself off the bed and yanked the portrait off the wall. He looked at Hermione. "He will not remain here. Not if you want me to stay."

"I tend to forget he's here, truthfully. He has three other portraits at Hogwarts alone." She started laughing. "You should thank him. Bernard's the one who helped me work up the courage to approach you again."

In brisk paces, Severus crossed to her door, holding the portrait by its heavy gilt frame. He marched it down the hallway and set the painting down beside her desk.

"So sorry, Bernard," he whispered. "You won't be back in Hermione's bedroom any time soon."

"Severus?" she called.

"I am coming," he replied, finally lifting the spell from the canvas. He marched back into her room, finding her standing there waiting for him.

Hermione walked up to him immediately and tugged his shirt out of his trousers. She tilted her head up to whisper in his ear. "I'm taking your shirt off."

He froze. If she saw him now under full light, she might call the whole thing off. "Leave it, Granger," he insisted, gruff as he pulled her hands away from his body. A brief look of hurt or hesitation crossed her face, and she looked away. Damn. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, just slow her down a bit. He threaded his fingers through the hair at her temples. When she turned her eyes back to his, he kissed her. He never knew how good a kiss could be until she came along. He felt her smile against his lips, and he pulled her body closer. Somehow, she really did seem to enjoy him.

Severus walked her over to her bed and doused the lights.


	13. The Consummation

It was pitch black in Hermione's bedroom.

She crawled onto her bed and laid her head on a pillow, waiting for Severus to follow. When the mattress shifted beneath his weight, she reached over to find the man lying beside her in the dark. She'd been a bit bothered when he hadn't wanted her to take his shirt off, but she decided she would let him do it himself when he was ready. She would simply restrain herself for now. Instead, she felt her way down his arms, ending with his wrists. She undid the buttons at his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.

Bringing his left hand to her mouth, she kissed his palm. "Sorry about Bernard." Talking helped her keep the anticipation of what was going to happen between them at bay.

Severus' fingertips brushed against her cheek. "He needed to leave."

Hermione's breath caught in her chest. She hated to think that she was one of those women in novellas who would swoon in the presence of their lover or use silly words like 'ministrations' to describe his fingers on her flesh, but he was just so intense and so close right now. She could always castigate herself for this weakness later. In the meanwhile, she had to focus hard on his words in order to remember to follow along with what he was saying. "Bernard? Yes. You know, he probably left my quarters altogether. My living room is a boring place right now. If I were Bernard, I'd go to a more exciting portrait. Maybe not the one in the Divination classroom—"

"Stop talking about another man while I am right here." He snaked an arm around her waist, bringing her body flush with his.

"Even one that's been dead for five centuries and might still think the world is flat?" she asked.

Instead of answering, he pressed a kiss to her unsuspecting lips.

Hermione was caught somewhere between groaning and giggling at his response, and her lungs worked to keep up with the rest of her body. "For that matter," she said, a tad breathlessly, "you know Bernard himself is flat!"

He kissed her again. Harder this time. Having learned that this was the fastest way to stop Hermione's ramblings, Severus proceeded to keep her quiet for a solid eight and a half minutes. For the most part, Hermione was a girl who lived in her head rather than her body, but his hands gently stroking up and down her sides and his tongue in her mouth happily redirected her attention. Nary a thought danced through her head while he proceeded to snog her into the mattress.

In all likelihood, Severus would have continued down that merry path for indeterminate length of time, but that was when Hermione decided that it would behoove them both if she stripped herself down to her unmentionables in an attempt to escalate the whole affair. She sat up, yanked her camisole off over her head, and tossed it on the floor beside her. The she scooted out of her joggers and threw them somewhere across the room, remaining in her bra and knickers. She lay back down beside him and began idly rubbing his chest.

"What do you..." He hesitated, a tinge of desperation in his rumbly voice. His hands moved up and down her arms. "What do you need?"

Hermione almost laughed. She didn't think he would respond well if she started sniggering now, so she took a deep breath before she spoke again. "First, I need you naked."

He huffed. "Technically, you do _not_ —"

"If you don't do it, I will," she interrupted him, reaching for his belt.

"Such a bossy little thing."

"Grouch."

"Despot."

"You asked what I wanted!" she cried, thwacking his arm.

"No, I asked what you _needed_ ," he clarified. She could hear the smugness in his voice. "There is a difference."

Hermione pinched his arse playfully. _Oh, that's nice_ , she thought. _Tight and firm._ "At this stage, they're fairly indistinguishable to me. At least when it comes to your naked body, which I both need and want." She proceeded to pet his chest, and leaned forward to kiss his neck. She undid a few buttons at his throat. "I'll settle for shirtless now. Let me take your shirt off, Severus."

She could hear him breathing, and hoped he would say yes.

Testing her luck, she unbuttoned another button and pressed a kiss to his chest. "Please?" He didn't reply, so she tackled the next button, kissing him all the while. "Pretty please?"

He paused a moment. Then in one movement, he sat up, pulled his shirt off, and shucked it in the corner.

Hermione wished that she could see his face.

"There," he grumbled. "Are you satisfied now?" he asked, still seated and looming over her.

Hermione sighed happily. For the longest time, she had thought that the perfect fellow for her was right around the corner. But he didn't come. More time passed, and still, he didn't come, and she convinced herself that maybe he never would. And so she gave up. It had come on so gradually that she hardly noticed, but it was there and it was true, just as sure as the rain in Scotland in May.

When she had first invited Severus to her bed, it was a mad thought, a half-formed idea driven partly by curiosity and just a touch of desire. She still wasn't sure what compelled her to do it. Looking back on the mad things she'd done, she knew he probably thought she'd lost her bloody mind. In the two months since her first offer, she had given herself permission to think about him differently. She saw him with new eyes. Oh, she had always appreciated his mind and his wit and his dedication to what was right. But she had only recently started to think about him for _her_. How he matched her and challenged her, how he was able to appreciate things she valued more than Ron and even Harry. And when her thoughts drifted to his body and hers, and their bodies together, well... _Well._

She was finally here with Severus. Was she satisfied now? She sat up and unhooked her bra. Threw it on the floor. Next she shimmied out of her knickers and tossed them aside. Hermione rose to her knees beside him, weaving her arms under his and around around his ribcage. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, and she knew then that she hadn't ever felt anything lovelier. She found his cheek with her own, and gently nipped his earlobe between her teeth.

"Yes, Severus," she whispered into his ear. "I am satisfied. I can't think of any place else I'd rather be."

She found herself being guided back down to the bed. Lying there on her back, Severus placed a hand on her stomach, just below her ribs. He slid his hand over her heated skin until she clasped his fingers and brought them to her breast. His touch was tentative, but he was thorough. Hermione felt a bit like a potions experiment in his hands as he systematically skimmed his fingers over the tops, sides, and undersides of her breasts. She started off holding her breath, but when he finally brushed his finger over her nipples, she gasped his name.

He stopped. "Did I hurt you?"

"Yessss," she hissed, clenching her teeth. He pulled away. "I mean, no. No, you didn't hurt me at all." She grabbed his hands and brought back down to her chest. "That's lovely, what you're doing. I've never found them terribly exciting, so they're all yours, Severus. Please continue."

He did so, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. _Oh, his tongue_. She would write sonnets about it tomorrow afternoon. As with their endeavors kissing, Severus learned her body's responses and adjusted remarkably quickly. A part of her thought she should tell him that he could remain there forever, but it would create problems for teaching and driving an automobile and whatnot if his lips were permanently latched onto her breasts. And as much as she loved what he was doing, she found that she missed the intimacy of simply kissing the man.

"Will you please kiss me?" Her voice came out as a quiet plea.

Severus lay down beside her, letting a bit of his weight fall on her right side. While his fingers danced over his skin, his lips found hers again. Hermione pulled him closer to her side, feeling the strong, lean muscles of his back. In the light of day, he may have been a bit on the thin side, but when he was in her arms, he was beautiful and he was perfect and he was hers.

Hermione rolled him onto his back then, and proceed to kiss her way down his neck and his chest. Without her sight available for use, all her other senses were heightened. She drank in his ragged breath, the salty taste of his skin, the softness of his hair. When she found particularly sensitive spots on his body, he shuddered silently under her mouth. This was a success.

As she contemplated the man beneath her, she was overwhelmed by a fit of the giggles, and she started laughing uncontrollably as she kissed his stomach.

"Are you all right, Granger?" He sounded confused more than hurt or angry.

She tried to contain herself, but had little luck. "I'm... I'm just so happy," she said, laughing all the while. She began to tickle the hedgehog in bed with her. "Aren't you happy, Severus?"

A chuckle or two was ripped from his throat, and then Hermione found herself flat on her back with her hands pinned to the mattress above her head and a Potions master straddling her. He spoke pointedly. "Full of questions, are we?"

Her laughter died down, and she sighed. "Maybe. Isn't it normal to talk through all of this?" She panted as she found her breath again. He didn't say anything, but leaned forward over her, holding her immobile. Her breath caught at this display of strength, and she silently berated herself for her body's submissive response. Reasserting herself, she spoke confidently. "Please, Severus? Take off your trousers."

Hearing her words, he released her hands and sat up on the edge of the bed, his legs swung over the side and his socked feet on the ground. She heard the shuffle of fabric and hoped it meant that would soon be as exposed as she was.

He pulled her bedcovers down and slid under them. _Well_. Two could play at that game. She did the same.

Lying there by his side, she wondered if he thought her pretty. She knew she wasn't striking like Ginny or beautiful like Bill's wife Fleur. Her thighs could be thinner, and her belly could be flatter. He seemed to enjoy her breasts while he had them in hand, hadn't he? Had she pushed him too quickly into bed? Was he waiting for her to take the lead or give him permission? She wished he would just say something to her, but he seemed determined to say as little as possible.

She spoke up, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I like it when you kiss me, Severus." She felt around beneath the covers and took his hand in hers. "I like it when... when you kiss my body." She squeezed his hand and started rambling as she tried to let him off the hook if he really didn't want her. "But... er... You don't have to if you don't want to. If you don't find me—That is, I want you to do whatever you want to do. If you'd rather not—"

In an instant, he was on top of her. He held himself up on his elbows over her, and she could feel his breath, hot on her cheek. "Don't say that."

She reached up to scratch his scalp with her fingernails in the manner she knew he liked. "I just want you to be happy," she whispered. "I want you to have everything you want. If that's me, I... I'll be really pleased. But it that's not me, I—"

His mouth returned to hers, and he teased her lips open with his sensual tongue. _Oh, gods_ , Hermione thought. _I'm never giving this up if I don't have to._ She kissed him back with abandon, reveling in the taste of him. He pulled back from her, offering kisses and soft bites on the altar of her body. When his lips found her breast, she was gone. Her body kept getting hotter and hotter under his touch, and his skilled fingers began to stoke some kind of bonfire deep in her bones as he touched her there, and— _ah!_ —there. Her legs spread open to give him access, completely of their own accord.

Out of nowhere, her body started shaking violently, as though she were lying on a bed of snow. _What was that?_ she wondered. He could probably hear her teeth rattling.

Severus brushed a sweat-slicked strand of hair from her brow. "Are you sure you're all right?" he whispered.

She nodded vigorously, embarrassed at her physical reaction.

"Hermione?"

 _Oh._ It was unlikely that he could hear her nodding in the dark. "Yes, Severus. I'm fine."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." She caressed his cheek. "You can't."

And slowly, oh, so slowly, he entered her, his breath stuttering all the while.

Hermione couldn't control the guttural moan that escaped her. _Ah_. Moments passed by, and he didn't move. Her body eventually relaxed, and the shaking morphed into a kind of trembling beneath him. She wrapped her arms and legs around his slender torso and simply enjoyed the feel of him, the weight of him, the smell of him. _So_ _this is what it's like_. This was... This was somehow more than she had expected it to be. The intimacy of it rushed over her in wave after wave, and she felt like she didn't want anyone else like this ever again. She had long suspected that the pain of a woman losing her virginity was all hype, possibly made up to manipulate girls into keeping their knees locked shut. In her case, it wasn't painful so much as it was a touch uncomfortable. Was he circumcised? She didn't think so, but she couldn't quite tell. She thought he might curve a bit, but she wasn't sure about that, either. She'd have to take the chance explore him more later. Somehow, her body adjusted to accommodate his, and she felt simply glorious. Indescribable, it was, but so, so right.

He pulled out slowly, almost leaving her body, and she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. That simply wouldn't do. What was he doing withdrawing? She needed him as close to her as possible, and his leaving was was incredibly dissatisfying. Didn't he know that? But then he thrust forward, a little more quickly and forcefully. _Oh_ , she thought. That was lovely. And again, he pulled out and pushed back in, faster still. It took awhile before they managed to get their movements in sync, and Hermione had the image of an orchestral conductor cueing them to find the right rhythm flashed through her brain.

Severus built up a steady pace, and Hermione found herself being carried along with him wherever he intended to lead them. When they got it right, it was wonderful. Once he overshot, and their bodies made the most peculiar noise as he popped out. Hermione burst out laughing. Before he had a chance to turn away, she pulled him down and kissed him fiercely. Then she took him in hand—nope, definitely not circumcised—and guided him back into her body.

Now that the newness of this all was wearing off, Hermione found that she could focus on the man she was with. The snap of his pelvis as he thrust himself deep within her, the feel of his bony hipbones against her soft flesh. She lifted her hands, taking his cheeks in her hands. How she wished she knew what he looked like! She wanted to imagine Severus Snape, grinning from ear to ear, pleased and content. Moving one hand to feel if he was smiling in the dark, she made it as far as his lips when he took the tip of her finger between his teeth and sucked on it. Without realizing what she was doing, Hermione arched up against him, her breasts brushing his chest. She couldn't get near enough to him, no matter how hard she tried.

In the end, she didn't see stars and the earth didn't move. Angels didn't break out in song, even though she'd now lost her chance at communing with the unicorns in the forest. It wasn't like any of those horrific clichés that she'd heard about, but it was also sweeter and messier and stranger and yet more intimate and more wonderful than she had ever anticipated. She felt aware and awake and alive in his arms. And safe. She felt closer to Severus than she'd ever felt to anyone, and wasn't that the strangest thing?

He kissed her neck and lifted himself off her. She smiled, and he tucked her into his side just under his heart, and they both fell sound asleep.


	14. The Doubts

In the morning, he was gone.

Hermione knew she had no reason to be disappointed. The plan was never for him to stay the night with her, but merely to see to her imminent deflowering. That he had done, and done rather well. But even as she told herself she shouldn't let herself think about it, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wake up in his arms.

She hauled herself out of bed and ambled over to the bathroom. Staring at the curly mess that seemed to defy gravity, she thought, _So this is it. I'm not a virgin anymore_. Giving herself a thorough once over, she realized that it simultaneously changed everything and nothing at all. Something new had awakened within her, but she was still the same person she had always been. Her hair was equally unmanageable today as it had been the day before, her nose was the same size, she still had the same wrinkles on her cheek from where her pillowcase bunched up under her face in sleep. The love bites on her breasts were a first, though. Same with the purplish marks he left at the juncture of her neck and her shoulder. She'd be covering those up with a charm, lest she give her colleagues rich material for gossip and her students material for shock and horror. They'd be even more horrified if they knew whose teeth marks they were staring at—professors and students both. _Well_ , she consoled herself, _Hooch would enjoy the stories_. The pair of them—Snape and Granger, together—would knock the flight instructor out of the Hogwarts staff rumor mills in no time flat.

After a long, hot shower, Hermione got dressed for the day. She pulled on tweed trousers and a soft cardigan, and called for Tilly to launder the bed linens. Hermione had never seen her so happy. The elf skipped away with the pile of sheets humming a little ditty. Walking through her living room on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione heard a low whistle. "Ooh la la, 'Ermione!"

Hermione turned around, spying a beleaguered astronomer in his portrait lying on the floor. "Bernard!" She ran over and picked it up, propping it up against her desk chair. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"Notheeng much," he responded, brushing his jacket off and straightening his hat. "My portrait must 'ave fallen over sometime while I waz gone. Now tell Bernard about your night. Your beau eez a dramatic fellow, oui?"

"Oui." She nodded and slipped on her teaching robes. "That's quite the understatement."

"Ah, to be young and een love!" the portrait cried.

Hermione frowned. "We're not in love. We're just..." She shrugged, willfully ignoring the strangeness of using her room decor for relationship counseling. Portraits were notoriously nosy. "I don't know what we are."

"You are blind, mon petit chou," Bernard protested. "Zat man eez crazy about you. Bernard sees theengs."

"Listen, Bernard," Hermione said, a tad nervous, "we're not telling anyone anything about us. So mum's the word." She checked her hair in the wall mirror, fixing a few flyaway strands.

"Ah, I see," he replied. "You would 'ave me to keep quiet? Why don't you want me to tell?"

Hermione leaned down so that she was eye level with the astronomer. She raised one eyebrow as she spoke. "You hold your tongue or I'll dig out the turpentine. Do we have an understanding?"

The painted man gulped and nodded. "B-b-but... But, of course!"

Hermione smiled broadly and turned to leave her quarters. She actually enjoyed the portraits in her quarters, and didn't want to scare him off for good. He was infinitely preferable to Sir Cadogan or the Fat Lady or any of the other portraits she'd had in her student years. They interfered in all aspects of life and always thought they knew best. "I'll see you later, Bernard! It's time for a little petit dejeuner."

The painting called after her in a melodious voice as she headed out the door. "Zat eez redundant, 'Ermione!"

:

Hermione took her regular seat at the High Table for breakfast. Neville was on her right, and an empty chair nominally belonging to Sybil Trelawney was to her left. The Divination professor rarely descended to feast amongst mortals, so it was good for the taking, usually by Poppy or Argus Filch when they joined the staff for meals. Severus read his copy of the Daily Prophet on the end of the table, just on the other side of Sibyl's empty chair. He looked so handsome when he was focused, and Hermione found the need to talk herself out of pulling the paper out of his hands and sitting herself down on his lap and nibbling on his earlobe. _Stop it now, Hermione,_ she reprimanded herself. Good lord, she was acting ridiculous. She mentally kicked herself and fought to remember what she said to the man every other day at breakfast in this scenario. What was it again? Oh, that's right.

"Good morning, Severus." A simple greeting. Understated. She pulled that off with no major errors.

He grunted in reply, just as he usually did. Hermione sighed and helped herself to some stewed tomatoes. She supposed that he couldn't do or say anything out of the ordinary if they wanted to keep their liaison a secret, but still, he could have done something small to acknowledge her.

"Good morning, Hermione," Neville said. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," she replied, passing her teacup for her friend to fill. "I'd like a strong cup today." She picked up a platter and scooted a small pile of scrambled eggs onto her on plate.

"You'll need it once you see what the Ministry's up to." Neville held up his copy of the newspaper. "The Wizengamot's stalled on two new appointments, so the stack of legislation they need to rule on is just sitting there, waiting."

"Imbeciles, the whole lot," Hermione agreed. Neville always provided her with conversation over meals, whether it be from what he was reading or what he was teaching his students. This was a particularly welcome distraction for her this morning, since she still had the feeling that her mind was not quite her own. "This is why I could never work there." The pair of old friends continued to berate the idiocy of the government over their breakfast. Had Hermione been paying more attention to the taciturn man to her left, she would have noticed that the pages he was holding had not turned once since her arrival.

About halfway through the meal, Poppy Pomfrey joined them for a bite, interrupting all talk of politics. She was an irregular regular at the staff table for meals. Keeping hundreds of students alive as they navigated their wands, life away from their families, and puberty all at the same time was no mean feat. It meant that her hours were as peculiar as the problems she encountered in the infirmary. She slid into the chair between Hermione and Severus and helped herself to some toast and marmalade.

"Good morning, Severus," the older woman said.

"Yes, yes," he grumbled.

Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes at Hermione and smiled. "Can't you do anything with him, dearie? I'd like to see him cheerful just once in my life."

Hermione swallowed. Did she know? _No_ , she thought resolutely. _She couldn't possibly_. Unless Severus mentioned something to her, which... he wouldn't. Would he? "I don't know why you would ask _me_ , Poppy. Besides, Severus isn't a morning person."

"Does this mean you can coax a smile from him after lunch?" Poppy asked warmly. "Or after hours?"

"Er... Er..." Hermione was more than a bit unnerved. She knew the nurse was fond of Severus, just as she was also fond of Hermione. But she couldn't possibly be asking what Hermione thought she was asking.

"I smile for no man," Severus said flatly. He added two sugars to Poppy's tea and passed her a spoon. "You'd think I were your trained monkey, the way you ask me to perform for your happiness. Next you'll have me plaiting Longbottom's hair and singing carols in the halls."

Neville shuddered beside her, while Hermione and Poppy began to giggle.

Severus set his paper down and looked up at her. "Not a morning person, am I?" he asked.

"You're not, are you?" Hermione asked defensively. "If you are a morning person, you hide it well. I'm merely working off the evidence you've provided me since I started teaching here. I don't know that I've heard more than three complete sentences from you before you've consumed at least one cup of coffee."

"And he drinks it like tar, dear," Poppy said. "It's about three or four times stronger than a normal brew. Did you know that the house-elves modified their recipes for him when he first started teaching as a young man?"

Severus grumbled quietly in his seat and picked up his newspaper again, effectively shutting them all out.

"I'll teach you that trick I used on Fitz-Lloyd the other day," the nurse said to Hermione, planning out their evening over toast and tea. With all that had happened between herself and the Potions master, Hermione had forgotten about her weekly sessions in the hospital wing. She was glad to have a reminder. "Have you read Adalbert Waffling's treatise on medicinal charms?"

"Not yet," Hermione replied. She'd already worked through a list of books that Madame Pomfrey recommended for her medical studies, but there were endless piles of supplemental readings that she could poke her way through. In the meanwhile, she needed to find a way out of her Infirmary duty tonight if she wanted to be with Severus. She usually met Poppy there sometime after dinner, around seven o'clock or so, and stayed for a few hours. "Will we cover that, too?"

"You'll be delighted," Poppy replied, patting Hermione's hand in a grandmotherly fashion. "The Hufflepuff Quidditch team ran into a few scrapes last night on the practice pitch, so tonight is your night to mend a few bones. Waffling's improvements to bone repair charms are truly impressive."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. Now that she remembered her meeting with Poppy, she needed to sort out her evening. How should she let Poppy down without telling her where she would be instead? She turned to Severus to include him in the conversation. "Have you ever been Poppy's student, Severus?"

He simply ignored them all.

She hadn't had the chance to do any bone mending yet, and Poppy was so enthusiastic about this. Perhaps if Hermione started with her a bit earlier than usual, she could also leave earlier than usual and be back to her quarters by 8 o'clock. "How long will that take?"

"Not more than an hour or two, my dear. I did most of the work last night, but we'll need to monitor their progress tonight and make changes as need be."

"I see," Hermione replied quietly. She watched Severus out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. "Can I join you around 6:30? I need to be free a little before 8 o'clock."

"Of course. Come whenever you're free and leave whenever you need to go."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. That solved one problem. "Thank you again for teaching me all of this, Poppy."

"Nonsense, child." Poppy folded up her napkin and stood, slipping a pastry and an orange into the pocket of her robes for later. She pushed her chair back into place and said good-bye to her colleagues. "Back to the hospital wing! I have a patient who cannot be left alone for long." She turned to Hermione and winked. "See you tonight."

Severus pushed away from the table, leaving them all without a word to anyone.

Hermione watched him walk away from her, admiring his lean figure and the billow of his robes.

"...the second lesson?" Neville said, waiting for her response.

She turned around and looked at her friend. "What was that, Neville?"

"I asked if you wanted to take the lead on the second lesson today," he replied. "Our class together?"

She shook herself back to attention. "Yes. Yes, of course. I can do it. I'll do the talking if you want to demonstrate the charms for our classes." _Focus, Hermione_ , she told herself. She picked herself up, metaphorically dusted herself off, and marched off to her day of teaching.

:

All in all, it was a fairly humdrum day. Nothing out of the ordinary happened in the dual Charms and Herbology sessions that Hermione and Neville taught together in the greenhouses that morning. A quiet lunch, wherein Severus again ignored her. She consoled herself by devouring the half box of Jaffa cakes in her office desk drawer before the students arrived for afternoon lessons. It was a good thing for her waistline that she hadn't added another box or two to her stash, since she would have eaten them all, too. The orangey bit in the middle of a Jaffa cake really was smashing, but never so much as during a time of crisis. The afternoon lessons were all with her advanced students, so Hermione taught them a few defensive charms that would surely appear on their N.E.W.T.s at the end of the year. Even after four hours of work, there were no major injuries among her students. When the time came, they left for supper as Professor Granger headed off to the hospital wing with Poppy.

Hermione had prepared herself for the inquisition. After Poppy's cryptic words at breakfast, it was yet to be seen if the woman knew that anything had changed between Hermione and Severus. Truthfully, a part of Hermione wanted a confidante she could speak to about the man. Poppy knew him better than most, trusted him and even liked him. She would be the ideal candidate. But Hermione had agreed never to speak of their arrangement with anyone else, and she would abide by her word. If Poppy knew more than she was letting on, Hermione expected to be hit by a barrage of questions about the dark man. Perhaps a list of recommended ways to break through his emotional barriers. But neither ever came.

Instead of hearing about how Severus was a tragically misunderstood figure just needing the warmth and affection of a good woman (namely, her), Hermione learned how to fix a femur and mend metatarsals, cleaning up the injuries of three Hufflepuff Quidditch players. The evening reaffirmed her decision to talk her godchildren out of ever playing such a stupid game.

Around 7:45, Hermione said her goodbyes to the students and the genial nurse. She washed her hands and hung up the Mediwitch robes she had borrowed on a hook by the door. Then she packed up the new volumes Poppy had given her to read next, all on poisons and charms. Hermione's nerves began to grow as she walked back to her quarters. What should she expect from Severus when she arrived? _Who_ should she expect—the man who made love to her by night, or the one who ignored her by day?

When she arrived at her door, she was nearly startled out of her shoes. As she spoke the password to grant her entrance, a pulse of energy beside her revealed the very man her thoughts had turned to. He had been waiting for her, Disillusioned. She stared at him, surprised.

"Hurry up, Granger," he snapped. "Anyone could come by."

" _The Age of Enlightenment_ ," she whispered, stepping back to let the door swing open. He nudged her forward through the door, stepped in himself, and slammed it closed behind him. "That's the password, by the way. You can always come in first if I'm not here right away." She blushed. "Just make yourself comfortable and—"

He pushed her back up against the wall, his eyes on her mouth even after it stopped moving.

Hermione felt her stomach drop out of position as he inched closer and lowered his face to hers. She smiled. _Good_ , she thought. _He still wanted her_. Bracing herself against the wall, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down to her. She kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, and didn't notice that anything at all had happened until she felt him pull away from her lips. He placed one arm under her legs and lifted her as if she was a weightless thing, a feather or a tissue or someone who hadn't eaten a half dozen spongey cakes earlier in the day, and he carried her to her bedroom.

It was then that Hermione noticed that the lights were off. That damned curse. She wanted to look at his body, wanted to talk to him, and now she could do neither. But he had already stripped her of her clothing and begun kissing down her torso. She wasn't about to stop him to run out to the corridor of Hogwarts. She wasn't going to do anything but lay back and enjoy him. He tickled her hipbone, sending her into a fit of laughter. Then he licked the soft skin of her inner thigh, and she instantly snapped her legs shut. She hadn't been prepared for that. Couldn't he have told her what he had been planning to do? A little warning would have been nice. When she felt him flailing about, she released him and heard the desperate gasps for air. _Merlin_ , she thought. _I've strangled Severus Snape_. She couldn't apologize with words, so she sat up and kissed him gently, placing all the emotions she felt into her touch. When he nodded against her chest, she lay down again, and he resumed his position.

No amount of reading or imagining could prepare her for what he did next.


	15. The Revelation

Severus was feeling rather smug. After a ruined first attempt, he'd finally managed to do right by Granger.

His only job had been to give the woman a taste of pleasure. He had warned her that first times were horrid, hadn't he? Still, he felt terrible that he'd managed to botch up hers so badly. Not only had he argued with her throughout it, he had also finished on his own before she ever had the chance. Couldn't even leave the woman with one mediocre orgasm. And after leaving her dissatisfied, he'd clung onto her like a stuffed bear and had the audacity to fall asleep in her bed, his nose buried in her ghastly hair.

At least she hadn't flinched or called him by another man's name. She hadn't hit him or run away crying, either. All things told, Severus had consoled himself, this was a marked improvement on his last carnal encounter. In bed, Hermione was just as she ever was—feisty and soft and challenging and sweet-smelling. And he was a sorry arse to leave her wanting and take more than he deserved. How she could even look at him, let alone talk to him at breakfast the next morning as though nothing was off, was beyond his comprehension.

For their second encounter, he had decided that he only wanted to make sure Hermione enjoyed herself. Fully. Then he would leave so she wouldn't have to deal with him in her bed or clutching her lush body. If the violent moans and whiny purrs coming from the woman were any indication, she'd be quite taken by his efforts. Twice. It had taken him a bit longer than he had expected to find certain bits and bobs, but they were quite small and he could only consult the one book in the whole of the Hogwarts library with diagrams—a particularly filthy one from Italy that had been tucked away in the forbidden section. There were others on dating and relationships, all housed up front, but they were from the Victorian age and gave more advice on how to wear one's gloves for different occasions than on how to make a woman scream your name.

So he'd succeeded valiantly, if he did say so himself, and then he dashed out of her room and back to his own. When he arrived, he poured himself a whisky and basked in the glow of his first real sexual victory. He managed this one while fully clothed, so it was a double victory. If it were an even remotely acceptable thing to do, he'd pay out his own Galleons to take out an advertisement in every paper in the land: "Severus Snape Left a Powerful and Beautiful Woman Quivering with Pleasure". Hell, he might even word it "Writhing in Pleasure" or "Writhing in Ecstasy" for good measure. Could he add sound effects? She made some excellent ones when he touched her in the right places. He'd also pay money to sneak into various homes across England to watch their reactions as they read the headlines.

As gloriously inappropriate as those thoughts were, he knew he needed to stamp them out for now. He went to his shelf and opened a colorfully illustrated book on _Guillotines and Other Medieval Torture Devices_ to put a damper on his own arousal. Beginning to read, he took his chair by the fire and settled in for the evening. He had just made it to the chapter containing the Pear of Anguish when he heard a pounding on his door. If he were a lucky man, it would be one of his first years with a bout of homesickness or the Headmaster with another fight to break up. Severus set the book down on his table, still open on the page he had been reading, and answered the door.

It was her.

He stepped aside, and she walked past him into his living room wearing her heaviest robes and that pair of ratty slippers she was so fond of. She sat in the spare chair, the one he had begun thinking of as _her_ chair, and she pulled her legs up underneath her. After a moment or two simply gazing at the fireplace, her sight wandered to the open page of a graphic interrogation technique using a metal contraption in the suspect's mouth.

She slammed the book closed. "What on earth are you reading?"

"It's an historical survey," he retorted.

"Does being with me make you think of torture?" she asked warily.

He paused. There was no good way to answer this. _Yes, Granger, it's a torture to taste you and know I have to give you up at the end of the month_. She'd kill him on the spot. She'd been very clear that this was a scientific experiment for her and nothing else. She was the one to set the ending date on the 31st. If Hermione knew that he let himself think of her permanently perched on his knee, she'd be mortified. _No, Granger, but it was the first thing I could think of to make all the blood in my body circulate regularly again and flow to all my other organs._ He doubted she wanted to consider his erection or his incredible lack of self-control where she was concerned.

She spoke up again. "Did you have to leave in such a rush?"

He swallowed. "I do believe that I overstayed my welcome last night, Granger. If you—"

"You didn't."

His eyes grew wide. "I... I didn't?"

She spoke quietly. "You are quite welcome to stay as long as you'd like, Severus. You have the password to my chambers now, so you can come and go freely."

He nodded. She obviously meant that he was welcome through the end of their arrangement.

"I... er..." she stammered, her cheeks a charming pink. "I wanted to thank you for tonight. That was more than I ever, _ever_... I mean... You're quite a talented man, Severus, but _that_ was... I didn't know I even _could_ feel the way you... It was like an explosion with... I'm..." She coughed a few times, rather unnaturally. "I'm not supposed to thank you for that, am I?"

He didn't respond. He was mostly pleased that she had received what she needed, and he took a possessive pride in being the one who had given it to her. It was more than passing strange to know that he was the only person who had ever lived to know her like this. If he could have gone back in time and eliminated his sixth year, she would be his only memory of sex, as well.

His attention was caught by her tense laughter. "But as incredible as tonight was, _last_ night was..." She sighed and closed her eyes. He knew what was coming. She didn't even have to say it. Last night was a disappointment, painful, something she wished she could have back to do over again, probably with someone else like Longbottom, who she'd spent the morning chatting up. The boy was surprisingly brawny now, and rather tan. There must have been something to working with plants all day long.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Whatever for? Last night was... It was beautiful."

"But you didn't..." His voice dropped off.

She stood up and crossed to his chair. He held his breath as she leaned forward, placing her hands on his knees. "I didn't expect to. I don't know if I even could have, no matter what the circumstances. You were wonderful, Severus." She kissed his cheek, her lips close to his ears as she spoke again. "You _are_ wonderful."

Severus stilled under her touch. _He_ was wonderful? That was a first for anyone to think of him, but she seemed to believe it. He didn't know what to do with someone who thought he was wonderful. If people were going to get complimentary about him, "useful" was as good as it ever got. Severus had been useful to the Dark Lord, to Dumbledore, to the students of Slytherin. Useful to the Order. He'd been appreciated by Lily once, but he doubted that even she had found him wonderful. Not after they were about ten years old, at least. But here was a woman, an intelligent woman with a smile like sunshine and a temper like fire, and she found him wonderful.

The mood was broken when she stood up, giggling. "I'm also dreadfully sorry that I suffocated you. Are you all right?"

"I'll recover," he said, gruff and defiant.

She reached out to massage his neck. "If you need any bruise paste, I'd be happy to apply it." She looked at the heavy volume on the table. "Or I can let you get back to your reading."

In the end, she Transfigured his chair into a sort of bench and had him lay out face down upon it. She rubbed bruise paste on his neck while she read to him from his book on iron maidens and the rack. She even recounted the pictures, complete with descriptions of spurting blood and dismembered bodies. There wasn't an ounce of squeamishness in her. He relaxed under her touch like a wild animal being tamed. It wouldn't take more than a minute or so for a nurse to apply the paste, but Hermione took her time, gently massaging his neck and his upper shoulders. He estimated that eighteen minutes had passed. Once it was applied, she gave him a soft peck on the back of his neck and ushered herself out the door.

:

Severus didn't sleep much that night.

The next morning, before the sun rose over the mountains, he paced back and forth in his quarters, considering the precarious nature of the situation he was in. What did he want out of all of this? He was getting a lover for a month. She was already proving to be a headache and a distraction, although she was the most pleasant interruption he'd ever suffered. He had never managed an actual relationship with a woman, but that's not what this was. He'd barely pulled off friendship with people he knew, although he was getting much better with acquaintances. He had several people with whom he could now freely converse on rare occasions, as long as he could leave and go home after he was through with them.

Hermione was different. He wasn't just putting up with her chatter until she left. No, he actually enjoyed spending time with her, and that scared him shitless. It had all begun with her preposterous suggestion of chess nights, which were just a way of getting him in a room with her and acclimating him to her presence. She was clever, this woman. He'd give her that. He found himself identifying the smell of her shampoo, watching her mouth as she ate, and heating up when she started propositioning him. Even the fully clothed propositions, although the time she showed up topless was permanently seared onto the backs of his eyelids.

It was a good thing she still hadn't seen him naked. He hated being exposed, hated being vulnerable in any way. And he wasn't worth looking at even when fully clothed, let alone starkers. He still had this curse to thank for his own protection. He was relieved that Granger hadn't deciphered it yet. Thinking back to her lists that day in her quarters, he needed to put his theory to the test. He prepared a small kettle and placed a few biscuits on a plate.

"Tilly?" he called. It was almost 6 a.m., which wasn't too early to ask for the house-elf's presence.

It took a moment or two before the elf showed up in his quarters. She was dressed in a tiny pair of pants and a chef's jacket today—evidence of Granger at work. Tilly possessed the largest rotating wardrobe of any house-elf he'd ever seen. She was also argumentative at times, which was almost unheard of for a house-elf.

"Sir?" she asked.

Now that he had the elf where he wanted her, he needed to ascertain what she knew. "I wanted to thank you for how you have been helping both me and Professor Granger." That was open-ended enough to mean anything. He'd sit back and watch her take the bait.

"You is welcome, Sir!" Tilly cried enthusiastically. "Professor Hermione is the kindest lady in all of Hogwarts. I is happy to turn the lights off and shuts you up and find you good things to eat."

A-ha! It _was_ the elf. "Hermione gave you these instructions, did she not?"

"Yes, sir. She writes them down and gives them to me."

"Understandably," he said. He poured the elf a cup of tea. "Honey? Sugar?"

The elf's eyes began to water. "I can do that, sir."

"Nonsense," he replied. "You are my guest, Tilly."

She wiped her tears away with a small handkerchief. "Thank you, sir. I is liking honey in my tea."

He nodded, spooning a heaping of the sticky stuff into her cup. He nudged the plate of biscuits towards the creature.

"I is knowing why Professor Hermione is liking you, sir." Tilly dunked a dry wheat biscuit into her tea.

He blushed. Fuck all. He was a goner if a house-elf had him blushing. This particular elf already knew far, far too much for his comfort. "Hermione is rather shy where all of this is concerned. Do you understand, Tilly?"

She nodded.

"I think it is wisest if you don't talk about this with her. Just to put her at ease. Is that acceptable?"

She nodded again, picking up another biscuit to drown in her sweetened tea.

"But I have found that not being able to see Hermione can cause us troubles," he said. "I already had a bloody nose, and she knocked me out a second time."

"Oh, no, sir!" The elf jumped off the chair and ran over to the fireplace, picking up an iron poker hanging up by the side. "This is Tilly's fault!"

He walked over to her and swiftly retrieved the tool from her tiny hands. Whatever she was planning on doing with it, it wasn't good. "Tilly, you have been a faithful friend to Hermione. You did everything she asked of you." He guided the elf back to Hermione's chair and motioned for her to sit down in it. "I know you elves can harness a tremendous magic here at Hogwarts that witches and wizards cannot. Could you make it so that I can see Hermione? Continue to close her eyes so that she doesn't know that we've made any changes to her plan. This way, we won't have any accidents, and Hermione will still be happy." _And I'll get to see Granger naked_ , he thought to himself. _Glory be_.

"I can do that, sir!" she cried.

"And we'll keep this secret between ourselves?" he asked, giving her a meaningful glance.

"Yes, sir," Tilly replied, a bright smile on her face. "Of course, sir!"


	16. The Holly

Having sent Tilly the elf on her merry way, Severus went on a long walk through the corridors of the castle. Since it was still the dead of winter, the sun wouldn't rise until around breakfast or so. The dark, quiet mornings were completely devoid of student activity. That fact alone made them Severus' favorite part of the day. He still resented being forced to appear at breakfast before class and wasn't completely awake until at least half a pot of black coffee had saturated his organs, but if he had to be awake, it might as well be in the company of no one.

The only other time Severus stalked the corridors of Hogwarts was at night, while on his regular patrols. In any given evening, he managed at least one younger student shaking in their boots and one older student with detention. It was a given, really, with how regularly the little darlings at Hogwarts attempted to thwart the rules. He could count on one hand the number of patrols he'd completed with no offenders. On the other end of the spectrum, he topped out one evening with sixteen detentions and four humiliated Hufflepuffs. That evening had been an unusual one, what with the discovery of two young extraordinarily flexible and amorous couples in the alcoves and the breakup of a smuggling ring of several sixth years who were supplying the school with the newest creations from George Weasley. The Hufflepuffs had been so horrified at being discovered by their least favorite professor that he hadn't even punished them. He figured that being caught with their pants down was punishment enough. Oddly enough, all four students remained completely silent in his classes throughout the rest of their time as students.

So Severus walked the hallways of Hogwarts, brisk as the winter air that filled them. He found it a good place to sort out his thoughts. Merlin, how many times had he walked these halls during his disastrous reign as headmaster? He'd done double duty during that year, terrorizing the school while keeping Longbottom and the youngest Weasley from getting themselves killed at the hands of the Dark Lord's enforcers.

And yet somehow, everything that had happened that year was less daunting than the prospect of whatever this was with Granger. He was completely unfit to be in an actual relationship with a woman. He knew that. Of course, he'd long since thought that he was unfit for anything physical, and he'd been managing sex with her acceptably. If he went by his standards, sex with Granger was one of the highlights of his bleak and miserable life, right up there with swinging in the neighborhood park with Lily as a boy, the knowledge that Lockhart was still paying for his own arrogance, chess nights with Granger, and his first publications in _Potions Quarterly_. If he went by her standards, she was exceptionally pleased with him and with his todger. This meant nothing, since she'd openly copped to never having sex before and had no point of comparison, but a happy Hermione was better than an angry or spiteful Hermione.

She wasn't a witch to be trifled with. Her vindictive streak as a child had left the Edgecombe girl with scars and Umbridge with a limp that came and went with bad weather. Thankfully, Hermione had mellowed somewhat in the years since. She was too much of a soft touch to actually hurt anyone in the first place, and now that she had a better control of her magic, she wasn't wielding it with such dangerous aplomb. Still, he wasn't going to mess with her. Much. He liked the fact that she wasn't as perfect as everyone made her out to be. It knocked her down a few pegs and brought her a little closer to his level.

The last time he'd honestly thought of relationships or marriage, he was twelve and Lily was still under the impression that he was a nice boy. _Well_. That was a long fucking time ago. He'd lost a lot more than innocence in the decades since then.

:

Eventually, Severus found his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He groaned inwardly at the sight of the meretricious holiday decor. Flitwick was no Dumbledore, but he still allowed a certain amount of tacky merrymaking around the castle. Enormous trees were set up all around the Hall, covered in gaudy balls and tinsel and whatnot. It seemed as though a glitter factory had skipped through the place, vomiting upon all the foliage as he went.

Severus did his best to ignore it, picking up a copy of the Daily Prophet while ignoring the reflective glare from the ornaments on the tree placed behind him. Sybil was blessedly absent, leaving the chair beside him empty. Thank the gods for that. He himself a cup from the coffee press placed in front of his plate. Hogwarts' elves really were the best, he reflected. Well-trained and so eager to please. They'd provided him with his own pot of bitter tar every morning for decades. Perusing the pages for information from London, he learned that there was nothing of note happening anywhere. When a human interest piece on a garden show in Harrogate makes the front page, it's a safe bet that nothing is actually going on.

Granger was yakking on with Longbottom about something. When she thought he wasn't looking, she'd glance at him with a hopeful look in her eyes. Not terribly subtle, that one. A miserable actress and a women who couldn't lie worth her salt. He'd have to chat with her about it if she couldn't stop this sort of thing.

He slung his coffee back and turned back to his paper.

:

Severus went through his day like any other. None of students managed to kill themselves or one another, so that was good. A few of them managed to produce the potions that he had scratched out on the blackboards for them to follow. Just for the hell of it, he had his fifth years drink their babbling draughts right before he sent them out the door. All at once, they started jibbering on about everything and nothing. Severus knew from past experience that about half the class was headed to Trelawney's tower, and the other half were going to Care of Magical Creatures. Of course, their babbling wouldn't faze Hagrid, and Trelawney wouldn't necessarily notice the difference.

He and Granger debated the merits of the newest Russian prime minister over supper. Though it pained him to admit it, even to himself, Severus found himself growing more and more distracted by the thought of Granger naked in his lap this coming evening. He knew it, he just _knew_ it. He warned her about it when she first propositioned him, and it had come to pass. He found himself agreeing with her arguments about the Russian leader's dubious past without even giving the matter a second thought. Normally, he would badger her just to oppose her and watch that wrinkle appear in the center of her forehead when she was agitated. What was she doing to him?

That level of distraction would go away after tonight, he decided. After getting Hermione to himself and finally seeing her starkers, his curiosity would be sated and he could function like a normal human being in her presence again, rather than a besotted schoolboy.

The trouble was that even fully clothed in her frumpy robes, she was lovely. He liked fire in a woman, and Hermione provided that with every look and every word she tossed his way.

He stormed off just as the puddings emerged on the tables, content to toil away in his quarters until he faced her at 8 o'clock. After ruining the same potion three times in a row, he headed off to see Hermione. He was a little early, but that was probably easier for them. Now that he knew what Tilly was up to as she worked her magic over Hermione's rooms, he decided he should always head off the spell by showing up before the lights went out and he and Hermione were robbed of words. He also had to keep Hermione occupied so that she wouldn't question "the curse" _—_ as she called it _—_ anymore.

He grimaced at the sight of a garishly overwrought wreath on her door. She was getting into the holiday spirit as well, it seemed.

"I completely forgot about Christmas coming," Hermione babbled, whipping the door open and ushering him inside, "so the reminder this morning in the Great Hall came at just the right time. I've hung up a few things and I made a new wreath, but I need Hagrid to bring me a tree, and when _—"_

Severus plucked her up in his arms and started walking towards her bedroom.

She pinched his arm hard. And giggled. "Don't be such a Scrooge, Severus! In fact, I can help you decorate your quarters next."

He stopped in place, holding her still. "Don't even think about it, Granger," he groused. He kissed her to keep her quiet, a skill he was perfecting. Of course, a few moments with her soft lips on his, and he was almost as lost as she was. The sensation of kissing her _—_ the weight of her body pressed up against his, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin _—_ was enough to make up for all his wretched years alone.

A wave of magic washed over him, bringing him to his senses. A glance at her clock told him it was 8 p.m. and that Tilly had already worked her magic on the room. He could still see everything, something for which he'd have to thank the house-elf later. He assumed that Granger couldn't see a thing now, but her eyes were closed the entire time she'd been kissing him and she hadn't opened them yet.

He had to move quickly.

Standing there in the hallway to her bedroom, Severus set Hermione down on her feet and shed her of her clothes, kissing her mouth all the while. First went her robes. One latch undone, and he pulled them off her shoulders. He took his off as well. Next went her jumper, a cashmere turtleneck that was off in one tug over her head. She kicked her shoes off herself and shimmied out of her skirt and knickers, and he began the arduous task of ridding her of her brassiere. His lips found the underside of her jaw and his fingers found two tiny bloody hooks. Could manufacturers make things any more difficult for a bloke? He had all but given up hope when she reached back to help him.

He hadn't thought she could get any more beautiful.

When he was finished and she was naked, he picked her back up and dashed into the bedroom, ready to drop her on her bed and enjoy her. This was all so much easier when he could see where he was going on what he was doing, even if her fingers were unbuttoning his white shirt and trying to remove it while he carried her. He almost dropped her when he reached for the door handle to her room, but caught her in time and walked her over to her bed.

It was unfortunate, then, that he saw what he saw.

Holly. A big pile of the sharp, pointy stuff. All over the bed. He sighed. Granger and her idiotic desire to decorate for Christmas. _Bugger._

In that moment, Severus knew he had a choice to make. Either he dropped an armful of naked Hermione onto the holly or he blew his cover. And really, when he considered it in those terms, it wasn't much of a choice. If only she had gone in for ivy, instead. At least it wasn't handblown glass ornaments.

Assessing her ability to heal, he took aim, positioning her soft arse over the bulk of the holly. He let go.

She practically bounced off the bed and into his arms, shrieking in pain. Her fingernails dug into his forearms and her mouth twisted in agony. He picked her up, carrying her bridal style to avoid touching the dozen or so barbs embedded in her derriere. Hoping that nobody was in the hallway, he dashed through the living room with Hermione in his arms and opened the door to the school corridor. An awkward juggle of sorts pursued as he leaned in to reach the handle without dropping her, but he managed. He ducked his head outside. No one was there. He stepped outside with her, and reentered.

Severus tried to speak, but found his throat still closed off. What had Hermione said about breaking the curse? Oh, yes. Closing the door behind him. Leaning next to the handle, he opened the door again and strode out with a still unclothed Hermione in his arms. He snapped the door shut, then reopened it.

"Professor Snape!" a low voice gasped in surprise. "And... Professor Granger?"

Severus whipped around at the sound to hide Hermione's body from view. No one matter what else happened, nobody was going to see Hermione like this but him. Nobody. He saw a translucent man of pearly white bobbing through the air. "Sir Nicholas, good evening."

Ah, so now he could speak. Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

"Take me back inside, Severus," Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. "Take me _now_." These were words he would have much rather heard in a different context. Well, no matter. She had turned a lovely shade of red that began at her cheeks and spread down her neck to her breasts.

"It's a medical emergency," Severus told the ghost. "You never saw us here."

Nearly Headless Nick still looked a bit apprehensive. "Shall I get Madame Pom _—"_

"No." Severus' response was clipped.

"But shouldn't she _—"_

"Hermione," Severus said, "do you need Madame Pomfrey's assistance?"

The chit smiled over her shoulder at the ghost and waved at him. "Oh, I'm sure I don't. I think Professor Snape can handle it on his own. It's rather embarrassing, Nick, so the fewer people that know about this, the better."

Nicholas tugged at the ruff around his neck and floated off. "Yes... Of course, Hermione. I didn't see a thing!"

Severus carried Hermione back over the threshold into her chambers.

"I can't believe Nearly Headless Nick just saw me naked," she whinged into Severus' chest. "I'm mortified."

"He didn't see anything, woman," Severus stated. "I made certain of that. Besides, I believe that Nicholas is trustworthy. You're still one of his Gryffindors, so he'll protect you." That was as close to an apology as he was going to give for carrying her outside her rooms without a stitch of clothing. He'd thought the coast was clear. Severus carried Hermione to her sofa and set her down on her feet. With a few flicks of his wand, the fire burst into life and a few glass bottles flew through the air from her bathroom to his hands. The decorative throw pillows tripled in size, and he laid them out on her new rug in front of the fire.

"Lie down," he commanded. "On your stomach."

"I can't believe I forgot about the stupid holly," she said, wincing as she sank down to her knees and lay face down on the pillows before the fire. "Stupid fucking holly. I was going to make another wreath out of it, and I had a pile of ivy that I was going to weave through it. I should have cleared it off before you came over."

"That's quite all right, Granger." He snorted. When he spoke, his voice ran rife with sarcasm. "I'm sure you were befuddled by my manly presence."

"Don't talk like that." She reached behind her and smacked him hard. He saw her smiling as she faced the fire. "Maybe I _was_ befuddled by you."

He snatched her hand and brought it down to her side. "Cease and desist, woman."

"And you must have been so confused!" she cried, her voice muffled by the pillow crammed under her face. "You were just setting me down, and then I start screaming like a banshee and grabbing at you!"

Snape hesitated. "Confused... Yes." She didn't need to know that he was quite aware of the pile of holly he was dropping her into. He sat down beside her. "Yes, I was... terribly confused."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." He passed her a bottle, nudging her into raising her upper body from the floor. "Pain Potion. Drink it."

She raised her head to gulp it down in one swig, and then she collapsed. "Thanks."

He examined the greenery stuck in her backside and planned his attack. "This still might sting."

Burying her head in her folded arms, she whimpered softly as he pulled out the sprigs of holly, one by one. Her arse was red and blotchy, clearly tender and scraped up a bit. Her back hadn't escaped unscathed, either. A few long scratches bore testimony of the holly's sharp points. None of the injuries were more than surface deep, and she would heal quickly. Still, it was his fault that she was going through this now.

He pulled the stopped out of the second glass bottle, and doused a hand towel with the stuff. Gingerly placing it on her rump, he murmured, "Murtlap essence." He poured a bit of the fluid on the scrapes on her back.

"Oh, that feels nice." She sighed, palpably relieved. Her voiced slurred together. "S'Lovely."

"Is there anything else you would like, Granger?" His guilt crept back up over him.

She reached out with her hand to grab his. "My legs are starting to cramp up a bit."

Taking this for a request, Severus began kneading her calf muscles as best as he could. They were rather firm. Not that he knew what a woman's legs were supposed to feel like, but hers seemed tighter than whatever was normal.

"So good." She moaned into her pillow. "Keep going."

All right, then. He would continue with her legs. Should he move his hands up or down? The towel on her arse wasn't covering anything else, and while he had no problems with Granger's unmentionables under cover of darkness, it seemed wrong to maul her by the light of the fire. Especially while she was drooling blissfully on her pillow. His hands worked down to her feet.

"Oh!" she squealed as his fingers made it to her soles and kicked his forearm. "Ticklish. Sorry."

Deciding to save himself from more inadvertent attacks, his fingers dug into her thighs. As he worked his way up, he noticed a series of scars on the insides of both legs. _What the hell?_ He hadn't noticed them last night while she writhed on his face, but he had been rather distracted. He traced the silvery lines with his fingers.

His actions drew her attention. She spoke quietly. "Those were a part of Bellatrix's calling card."

He paused, placing one hand in the center of her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "I only wish we could have unleashed Molly Weasley on her during the first war."

"I used to be incredibly self-conscious about the scars," she said. "I've got more on my stomach and I'm sure you noticed the one on my chest."

He hadn't actually. He'd been preoccupied by her nipples at the time. He vaguely recalled preparing some healing potions for her after the Sirius Black rescue debacle Potter had led his gaggle of bandits in down at the Ministry, but nothing he had seen of her body since then had made him connect those dots.

"One summer, I was on holiday with Harry and Andromeda and Teddy down in St. Ives. They were all swimming and I was in shorts. Reading on a towel, probably. Anyway, Teddy was three or four at the time, and he kept asking me to join him. After hours of avoiding it, I finally gave up and agreed, but I hadn't brought a bathing suit with me. The shop on the beach front only sold these tacky little bikinis, so I picked the one that covered the most skin."

The image of Hermione in a tiny bathing costume entered his mind. It was a shame that their agreement came to an end in the cold of winter. He'd probably never get to see it. "And?"

"And it wasn't a big deal," she said, still talking into her arms. "Teddy asked about all my marks, and Harry reminded him about his lightning bolt. Teddy came to the conclusion that scars were a sign of courage and bravery, which Harry and I completely agreed with."

Severus smiled to himself as he resumed massaging her thighs. He knew Hermione probably thought she was being subtle, relaying her thoughts about her own body to relieve him of his own nerves of her seeing him in all his scars and rejecting him for his ugliness and worthlessness. Gryffindor to the core, this woman.

"That. Keep on with that, please," she said, cooing as his fingers dug into her legs. "Right _there_. He nearly gave Andromeda a heart attack when he started experimenting with scars all over his body so that he'd look like Harry and me. First she thought he'd gone off and played in a rose bush, and then she remembered that he's a little Metamorphmagus and that none it was permanent."

She started rocking back and forth, lifting her head off the rug. She bent at the waist and groaned loudly.

Severus withdrew his hands and asked, "Granger, what are you doing?"

"It hurts to move, and I want to curl up in bed." Somehow she hauled herself up to a sitting position, and then slowly stood. "It hurts to bend, too."

"I'll carry you."

"But then I'll still be bent."

"Shall I levitate you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she stated. "I can walk."

He rolled his eyes and stopped her in her tracks. "Cross your arms."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

She balked a moment before acquiescing. "Fine."

Severus picked her up by her elbows in an awkward embrace, careful not to touch her back. He walked her into her bedroom, placing her in an upright position next to the bed, still covered in holly. " _Evanesco_ ," he murmured, and with a word, the offending holly disappeared. Next, Severus turned down the bed linens and plumped her pillow. _Sad, old boy_ , he thought. Fluffing her pillows? Soon he'd be embroidering book covers for her dog-eared copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. "Would her majesty like anything else tonight?"

She crawled into bed, lying on her stomach and resting one cheek on her pillow. "Covers, please?"

He pulled the sheet up over her. "This doesn't hurt, does it?" He still felt mildly guilty for the pain she was in, even though she'd never know it was his fault and even though he hadn't had much choice in the matter.

"Nope. Feels fine," she muttered. "You can pull up the quilts, too."

He did as she asked. "Anything else? Otherwise, I'll leave you in peace."

She looked up at him and smiled. Then she patted the empty pillow beside hers. "Join me."

With a melodramatic sigh, he slipped under the covers. He barely noticed when she pulled her wand and spelled all the clothes from his body and snuggled into his side.


	17. The Surprise

Hermione hadn't expected to find Severus in bed with her when she woke up. Then again, she hadn't expected to wake up in the middle of the night, either. Her bedside clock told her that it was a little past midnight, and as she moved around a bit, she was happy to find that the soreness on her arse and her back was finally going away. _That blasted holly._ She was going to have to maneuver Severus into giving her a massage when she wasn't writhing in agony on her sheepskin rug. That man possessed magical fingers. Quite literally, of course, but he also knew exactly how to rub her so that she was putty in his hands. Another activity for another night.

But here she was, one leg slung over his, his quiet snores reverberating in her ears. There was something incredibly soothing about the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took. With her ear pressed to his side, she listened to the regularity of his heartbeats, steady and sure. Without much thought to his sleep, she stroked the skin on his stomach. He was warm and soft here, unlike the rough skin on his calloused fingers or the spots of thick scar tissue on his back. Her fingers moved up his chest and over each rib, down his torso. He was a lean man, but not overly thin as he had been when she was younger.

The only light in the room was the glow of the moon, reflecting off the snow in the mountains. Hermione reached for her wand and opened her curtains just a crack further to shed more light on the man in bed with her. Casting a Warming Charm on the two of them, she pulled her quilt back to admire her lover's body, since he always took such care in hiding himself from her. Yes, he was covered by a smattering of ugly scars. They were silvery white now, save for one reddish gash near his hip. She resumed touching him, tracing over a few of the prominent ones on his chest, feeling the way they were raised slightly above the rest of his skin.

Hermione smiled to herself as she saw that her touch had stirred him to alertness. Well, not all of him or even most of him, as he was still snoring away, but a rather significant part of him nevertheless. She'd never had her run of a naked man before, and certainly not of a naked Severus, and she hadn't expected him to sleep quite so soundly in her presence. Or ever at all. Somehow she assumed that he would be a light sleeper who would wake at the faintest noises. Maybe he _had been_ in his younger years as a spy, and he had grown out of this practice as the number of people who wanted him dead drifted down to zero. Smiling to herself, Hermione liked to think that his deep sleep showed how much he trusted her.

On that note, she knew how reticent Severus was about revealing his body to her. She dragged the quilt back up over him and nestled into the crook of his arm, returning her hands to his stomach. Flat, not terribly muscular, and covered with sparse black hair. Moving slowly, oh, so slowly, she traced up and down his thighs, and he grew fully erect. Hermione smiled to herself, pleased that she could give him a bit of what he had given her the night before. She stroked his todger with inexperienced fingers. Of all the parts of Severus' body, this one was perhaps the least attractive. Of course, she loved what it did to her. _Did she ever._ It was a highly functional organ. But she didn't understand the immense pride every male had about them when even the most attractive ones looked like vegetation gone wrong. It felt wonderful in her hand, heavy and hot and firm. She added more pressure as she saw his breathing speed up and his nostrils flare, and she was convinced that she had almost managed to make him lose all control when—

"What the hell, Granger?" he snapped, his eyes open as he pried himself out of her hands.

Her eyes grew wide. "I thought I would surprise you."

"Congratulations," he drawled, turning his back on her as he looked about her bedroom for his clothes. "I am _rather_ surprised."

"Don't you get snippy with me, Severus Snape!" Hermione said, her voice raised. "You enjoyed that. I know you did!"

"Not that I had any say in the matter," he murmured, reaching for his pants and trousers.

Hermione grabbed her lover, using all her strength to land him back on her bed. He must not have wanted to put up much of a fight, because she had him on his back after a brief struggle, pinned under her smaller body in no time. He even let her pin his wrists down to the mattress, despite the obvious fact that he was significantly stronger than her and could have evaded her grasp with ease. After a brief tussle, Hermione was short of breath, but she finally got Severus in position.

"I take it you don't like surprises?" she asked, panting out uneven breaths.

He turned his face towards the moon, releasing all the tension from his body. "I despise them."

Hermione leaned down to placate the man, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Then I won't do it anymore," she whispered, her breath on his ear. "Not unless you change your mind and tell me so."

Severus tore his hands out from her grasp, wrapping his arms around her torso as he held her. Hermione sighed as his hot mouth connected with her neck.

"For the record," she added, failing miserably to keep her voice steady as he devoured her skin, "I love them. You have my full permission to wake me up in any manner you see fit." She giggled. "You probably can't tell in the dark, but I'm waggling my eyebrows suggestively at you right now, Severus."

He barked out a full-throated laugh. "Duly noted, Granger." His mouth returned to her body as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on her collarbone, his arms still locked around her body.

"Oh, that's nice," she murmured. Reaching up to his hair, she scraped her fingernails along his scalp in the way that he liked. "Very nice, indeed."

"I _am_ wide awake now," he stated. "So I should inform you that nothing you would endeavor to do would take me unawares."

"Are you, now?"

"Demonstrably awake, as I do not talk in my sleep."

"Never?"

"Never. It would have been quite the liability in Slytherin as a student."

"Well, if you're already awake..." Hermione took that as an invitation. "If you're already awake, you'll find none of this remotely surprising." She sat upright, lifting her body from his so that she could take him in hand. After a bit of fumbling, Hermione lowered herself onto him until she was flush with his body, groaning at the new sensations he created in her at this angle. She breathed deeply as she tried to relax her muscles, but the dull throbbing deep within kept all her senses alert and on edge.

In this new position, Hermione found herself relearning just how many muscles were involved in the process of having sex. Quite a few. She couldn't even name them all if she tried, but she knew she'd be sore in the morning. Placing her hands on his chest, she moved up and down on his cock at an ever quickening pace. _Oh, my_. Gods, this was _marvelous_. Why on earth had she waited so long to have sex?

Had she attempted it as a student, her only options would have probably been Ron, or maybe Neville. Seamus had been sweet on her for a time in sixth year, but that hadn't lasted long. She couldn't imagine taking either of them to her bed. The only men who worked alongside her at the Ministry were Clive Pemberton and Terrance Pinfield, both cocksure bastards who had tried to conquer several women in their office. As Hermione reconsidered, she realized that maybe it wasn't that she had waited to have sex, but that she had waited to have Severus. This Severus, the one who took the time to improve her chess game, who handpicked Christmas decorations from her arse, who looked at her as though he wanted to swallow her whole, but only when he thought she wasn't looking.

He was worth the wait.

His hands meandered up her soft flanks, cupping her breasts and plucking her nipples. Truthfully, Hermione loved every point of contact with him when they were together. It wasn't just about the physicality of it, but the feeling of connection. He was giving up a remarkable amount of control to her when they made love like this, which both excited and scared her. Maybe after she grew more accustomed to all of this, she would feel more confident, but now she was simply cycling through different movements until she found the ones that set her body thrumming. The heat in her body grew steadily as she rode him in the shadows. Trying to make out his facial expressions with the minimal light, Hermione caught a glance of Severus smiling. When he finally made eye contact with her, she leaned down against his chest to kiss his lips.

"Will you...?" she whispered in his ear.

She didn't finish her sentence, but he seemed to know what she needed. He rolled the pair of them over in bed, settling himself on top of her.

It didn't take long for either of them.

:

The other side of her bed was empty again when she rose for breakfast, but Hermione had expected as much. After a steaming shower, she puttered through her quarters, changing her clothes two or three times as she piled the loose holly in an empty basket she conjured from a wooden spoon in her kitchen. With how little she cooked, she could probably leave it a basket indefinitely. For that matter, she could turn all her cooking implements into different things. She'd been wanting an ottoman for the living room. Perhaps she should use a whisk?

Hermione joined the staff at the High Table for breakfast. Oatmeal and baked apples and hard-boiled eggs today, but Hermione passed on the bacon. For whatever reason, Neville wasn't there, leaving an empty chair between herself and Headmaster Flitwick.

He peppered her with questions about her classroom sharing with Neville, telling her how pleased he was with the changes and insisting that he was close to implementing their cooperative teaching model for other subjects as well. Hermione grew animated as she considered the possibilities aloud: History of Magic with Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and Potions, the possibilities were tremendous.

Before she allowed it to slip her mind again, Hermione decided to investigate the strange magic that overtook her rooms every night at 8pm. Severus seemed unfazed by it now, something that Hermione chalked up to being on the receiving end of regular copulation. His insistence to discover the root cause of the unexpected magic had all but disappeared. Perhaps Flitwick had some insights into what was happening.

"Headmaster?" she asked.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I've been looking into unexplained phenomena around the castle. Are you aware of any unusual activity at Hogwarts?"

"That's a little vague, my dear." He spread a thick layer of marmalade on his toast. "Can you be any more specific?"

"Well," Hermione began, taking a sip of her tea. She had to decide just how much of what happened was relevant for Flitwick. She wasn't about to tell him that Severus was with her or what they'd been up to, but in order for him to help her, the headmaster needed some more information. "I was in my quarters the other night and all the lights went out. The fire, too. I can't understand why."

The diminutive man began to chuckle. "It could be a breeze through these drafty walls. I doubt it's anything sinister."

"Oh, I didn't say that," she replied. "I don't think anything dangerous is going on. It seems more like the castle is encouraging me to... to..."

"To relax?" he supplied. "You always were one for working into the late hours of the night. Anyone who saw you toiling in the library could tell as much. We also heard Madame Pince report on your regular presence there as a girl."

She gulped. "You could say that."

Flitwick set down his fork. His eyes scanned the ceiling absently, as though he were shuffling through his thoughts. "Which portraits do you have in your rooms, Hermione? We have more than one or two interfering twits, and portraits have more power than one might think."

"Just Bernard the Benign. And a gaggle of shepherdesses..." She laughed it off. "He wouldn't do anything, would he?"

"He's a friendly fellow," Flitwick replied, waving off her concerns. "I highly doubt it. I believe you've met Sir Cadogan, haven't you?"

"Unfortunately," she replied. He had made a memorable impression on her during her third year when he guarded the Gryffindor house door. "That one's a bit overzealous."

"Yes, yes," he agreed. "We've relocated his portrait more times than any other in the castle. First, he threatened the suits of armor in the armor gallery. He kept on challenging a suit of plated mail to a fight, insisting that the man who'd worn it had stolen his woman. Then we put his up with Sybil for a time, thinking her classroom would be quiet and peaceful and dark. He shouted at students during their dream readings. Don't tell Professor Davies that I told you this, but a cry from Sir Cadogan made him wet his trousers during his third year. He's in an empty corridor on the sixth floor now. It's the least populated part of the castle."

"Hmm." Hermione forced her gaze to remain on her plate rather than to drift over to Severus. He was drowning himself in buckets of coffee, so she doubted that he was listening to her conversation.

Flitwick continued. "There's the castle itself, of course, but outside of the moving staircases and the Room of Requirement, it keeps its activity to a minimum. I doubt it's grown more than a closet in years."

"A closet?" Hermione asked.

"Ask Neville about it. I understand the castle grew him several storage closets for new pots and the like."

"That was very considerate of it," she replied.

"Hogwarts has a special fondness for that boy," Flitwick said. "You can feel it when you're around him. I think it's because of the war."

"Hmm," Hermione hummed, listening intently.

"There's only one option left," he said cheerily. "Talk to the house-elves."

Hermione nodded. Tilly had been supplying her steadily with food and ale for Severus when he arrived at her rooms, whether they indulged in it or bypassed it altogether to head straight for her bedroom. "The house-elves," she repeated.

"They can override all sorts of magical laws, and we do have more here in the kitchens than in any other building in Britain." Flitwick gave a few sharp raps with his knuckles on the table, clearing the dirty plates and glasses from the surface. He hopped off his chair and looked back up at Hermione. "Yes. If I were you, I would talk to the house-elves."


	18. The Addendum

Hermione was livid.

 _That rat bastard_. She couldn't believe that Severus had pulled the wool over her eyes with this stunt of his. Not only had he known what was causing the magical blackouts in her rooms for days, but he had also seen the holly on her bed when he dropped and maimed her. _Ignominious wanker._

Oh, she was relieved to finally have an answer to the mysterious curse placed over her quarters. It wasn't terribly mysterious in the end. Had only she asked Tilly earlier, she would have known that the diminutive elf was just following out her hastily scribbled note as a set of instructions or a contract of sorts. The young elf exhausted herself to please Hermione in everything she did, always going beyond the call of duty to provide for her mistress at Hogwarts. The first time Hermione had asked Tilly for anything, it was for dark chocolate to relieve some terrible cramping. She expected a small piece of the stuff on a plate, but Tilly had left an entire gateau, rich and gooey and covered in raspberry sauce and real whipped cream, on her table. Hermione was fairly certain she'd packed on half a stone with that one, but it had been worth it. When Hermione asked Tilly for a stash of tea in her quarters, a hamper with a dozen varieties of herbals and blacks appeared in her kitchen. She also changed the towels everyday until Hermione insisted that they only needed laundering once a week. Tilly didn't mess around.

Hermione had fixed a pot of the elf's favorite tea, a nice oolong, and invited her to a chat. In a mere ten minutes, she had learned everything she needed to know.

"Headmaster Flitwick tells me that you elves have some incredible powers over the castle," Hermione said, laying the groundwork.

"We is capable of many things, Missy Hermione. For starters, there is no need to Floo when one is an elf. And we can make things disappear and reappear anywhere we wishes."

"Can you perform localized charms on sites in the castle, like a Silencing Charm on a classroom or a darkness spell on the Great Hall?" Hermione asked.

Tilly looked confused, tilting her head to one side. "Like the ones I is doing on your rooms?"

"So you _were_ the one changing the lights and the Silencing Charms on the rooms?" she asked Tilly. She hadn't meant it to sound harsh, but the words came in a rush, sounding like an accusation rather than a question.

The elf's lower lip trembled. "I is following the list that Missy Hermione and the Mister Severus wrote for me."

"Yes, of course." Hermione tried to keep her expression blank as she processed this news. "You are a thoughtful helper, Tilly."

The elf piped up. "When Mister Severus asked me to change the magic, I did just as he asked."

Hermione blanched. "Oh, did you now?" she asked. Severus hadn't mentioned a thing to her about this. In fact, he had pretended to be completely in the dark on their mystery, and hadn't volunteered even a suspicion that it was house-elf magic at work. "How exactly did you change things, Tilly? I didn't notice a thing."

"I let Mister Severus see you so you wouldn't hurt each other anymore." The elf nibbled away at her biscuit. "I is doing it so quietly so as not to embarrass you, Miss."

Her mind racing, Hermione backtracked over everything she had done in his presence. Had she done anything terribly embarrassing in Severus' presence? She didn't think so, but maybe she walked like a duck when she was naked and simply had no idea. She honestly didn't remember much of the specifics when she was in the dark with Severus. It was just a frenzy of clothes and hands and lips and bed.

"When did you change the magic, Tilly?" she asked. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. Had Severus been hiding this from her all along?

"Just yesterday."

Ah. Well, that was better than what she had feared. Truth be told, it was easier to avoid accidents when at least one of them could see the other. Although he had dropped her on her bed filled with holly when he knew very well what he was doing. _Bastard, bastard, bastard..._ She was lost in her own thoughts when a high-pitched voice pulled her back to the present.

"Missy Hermione, you is still wanting me to do the magic on your rooms?" she asked.

Hermione had to think about it. She had the opportunity to turn the tables on Severus if she played her cards right. She _could_ confront him right away; really let him have it. The part of her that wanted immediate retribution called out for it. Had it been Harry or Ron, that would have been her response. But she was dealing with an exceedingly clever man, not one of her boys, and she needed to make him feel her wrath and learn to be honest with her.

"Yes, Tilly," she replied. "Please do as you have been doing."

"And it's all right that Mister Severus can see you now?" the elf asked, visibly worried that she had done something wrong. She was wringing her hands, looking up at Hermione with big eyes. "He said you two is getting into accidents when you isn't seeing each other."

"He is right," Hermione said. "Thank you for your help, Tilly."

The elf looked relieved, smiling up at her mistress. The word "help" was the most effective one when talking to Tilly. More than anything else, the elf loved to be helpful.

A flash of genius struck Hermione just then. "Say, Tilly?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Can you lift the speaking ban on Severus so that I can hear him when he talks?" she asked. Hermione was determined to make Severus comfortable enough in her presence over the next month so that he would willingly show himself to her. But she wanted to know something more of him when they were intimate, and this seemed like a fair trade. "Only..." she faltered a minute. "Only don't tell him. It'll be our secret."

Tilly nodded. "Yes, Missy Hermione. So he is seeing you, and you is hearing him?"

"Yes. Consider it an addendum to the original plan. That would be most helpful."

Tilly slid off her chair to her feet.

"And Tilly?" Hermione asked.

"Yes?"

"May I ask you to bring me something new for a bubble bath and put it on my account?" Hermione hesitated. She still hated asking an elf for anything, even though she now knew how happy it made Tilly. "But only if you get yourself something new as well."

"Oh, yes, Missy Hermione!" The elf trotted off for the day, pleased that she was pushing the dark Potions master and her mistress closer together.

Meanwhile, Hermione was plotting Severus' demise as payback for the holly incident. Her patience would be tested in the coming days, but she couldn't act right away. That would make him suspicious—more suspicious than usual—and then, the jig would be up. She would bide her time and wait for the right moment.

It was difficult for her to be angry with Snape about anything now that she was getting to know him better. While she would have preferred that he told her about Tilly's involvement as soon as he discovered it himself, the fact that he asked Tilly to change the rules for him was telling. Severus wanted her. Wanted to be with her, wanted to see her body, wanted to watch her face while they made love. He was still terrified of being exposed, but Hermione assumed that it might take a lifetime to wear him down on that issue. She wished that he would let go of the past, but she knew as well as anyone how difficult that could be.

:

It was the weekend, so there were no classes to teach and no students to reprimand. It was far too cold for her tastes, so Hermione spent the morning luxuriating in her bathtub under a fleet of bubbles instead of going for a walk around the lake or a jog through the Forbidden Forest. She'd found a varied selection of scented bath salts and whatnot in a hamper beside her tub. _Bless you, Tilly_ , she thought. A cup of hot chocolate teetered on the stone ledge beside her, and her book of choice was a classic Agatha Christie mystery she'd read a dozen times before. She already knew who killed Roger Ackroyd, but that didn't stop her from being swept along in anticipation as she progressed through the book.

Soaking in her tub, Hermione was aware of her body in ways she never had been before. This made sense to her, all things considered. It wasn't as though she were some innocent school girl anymore, confused by feminine hygiene products and the irregularity of cramping and the way that she had always wanted to string up Ronald and Harry by their toenails for their juvenile insensitivity for two days each month. No, she had finally come into her own. The side of her that loved efficiency appreciated the fact that she was using her body fully now.

Sex with Severus had been a bit tentative at first, but they were moving decidedly full speed ahead. Really, the plans that she had sketched out on a piece of scrap paper had been ludicrous. She knew that. Of course, she hadn't wanted any of it. She had proposed a steady line of shagging with the man, and he had been the one to insist on all those limitations. Even after the past week, she wasn't quite sure what he was afraid of. Yes, he was hesitant to let her see him naked, but it was more than that. He had wanted a clear separation between their amorous adventures and their working life. She was doing that, wasn't she?

Hermione reminded herself that their arrangement was merely physical. She and Severus would enjoy themselves during their month together, and they would go their separate ways. That is, they would still see each other everyday at work. They would also continue on with their chess nights, if Hermione had her say in the matter. She wasn't about to quit those until she had beaten him at least once. She would then commemorate the occasion and rub it in his overly large nose whenever she needed the leverage.

Yes, she would be able to give him up when January 1 rolled around.

Unless...

Unless maybe she could convince him to keep on with her occasionally. Maybe she could sell the idea to him as physical exercise. But maybe he would want his body and his life back. What then?

She could take Ginny up on one of her offers to set her up with one of her acquaintances. She could date, she told herself. She really could. Ginny was always threatening her with some blind date or other, despite Harry's best efforts to subdue his wife's Weasley breeding instincts and leave Hermione alone.

Maybe Hermione didn't want to be left alone anymore.

:

After lounging about in her quarters all morning, Hermione headed down to the Great Hall for lunch. Faculty members were sparse on the weekend, since they weren't required to be at meals unless they were on duty. When she made it to her usual seat, she found herself surrounded by Sybil on one side and Neville on the other. Flitwick was there, too, and Hagrid, but all the other seats were empty.

"Hello, Neville," she said brightly as he pulled out her chair for her. His gran had ensured that he was a consummate gentleman. "What are you up to this weekend?"

"Oh, you know," he mumbled, spooning boiled potatoes onto his plate and ladling gravy over the mash, "just keeping an eye on everyone this weekend. I forgot I had duty until _—"_

"Your aura," Trelawney interrupted, leaning over to Hermione until her nose was almost touching Hermione's cheek. "It's practically throbbing!" she exclaimed.

Hermione blushed. She knew Trelawney was a fraud ninety-nine percent of the time, but she managed to nail it every once and again. She doubted the old bat knew that anything had changed in Hermione's life, but still, the woman was unnerving. "What does that even _mean_ , Sybil?" she asked as politely as she could muster. She shook her head. "I just ran here from my quarters, so it's probably just my heart beat you're hearing."

The Divination professor began to wave her hands around Hermione's body, mumbling and humming when she found something intriguing.

For her own part, Hermione tried to brush it off, loading her plate with steamed asparagus and chicken pie. She turned her back on the madness and addressed Neville. "You were saying?"

Neville's eyes distractedly followed the Divination professor's moving fingers. "Er... er... Yes. I was saying that I'm just keeping duty today."

Her gaze steadfast on her friend, Hermione refused to be bothered by the fraud fluttering about next to her. "Anything new in the greenhouse?"

"Anything... Er..." He tore his eyes away, blinking at Hermione. "What was... what were you saying?"

Hermione just chuckled. "Never you mind, Neville." Then she turned to Sybil, looking up at the woman hovering over her. "Would you mind? I'm trying to eat."

Trelawney huffed off, muttering something about the "willfully blind" who were "without the Inner Eye."

 _Good riddance_ , Hermione thought.

Meanwhile, Neville stabbed his potatoes with a good deal of force. "Sorry, Hermione. I had planned on finishing up all my holiday shopping this weekend, but then I remembered I have to be on duty this weekend." He took a long draught of his tea. "It's just as well, really, since I have no idea what to get for Hannah. We've only been seeing each other a short while. I don't even know what's appropriate."

Hermione swallowed a bite of pie, thinking. She was in a sort of similar boat. Should she be getting Severus a Christmas gift? They weren't dating _per se_ , but they were about as close as she'd ever been with a man before. Would he be expecting one? Or would it put too much pressure on them to even consider a gift? "That's a tough one, Neville." She smiled at her friend. "Do you think you'll be receiving one from her?"

"I don't know," he said, the worry present in his voice. "If I get her something and she doesn't have a gift for me, she'll feel terrible. Or she'll think I have certain expectations about us. If she gives me one and I have nothing to give back, it'll look like I don't care about her."

"Are you spending the holidays together?" Hermione asked. "That could make a difference."

"We haven't talked about it yet," he replied. Neville looked forlorn in a way Hermione hadn't seen since they were students. "Should I bring it up?"

Hermione gave him a stern glance.

Neville gulped. "Yes, yes I should." He made a show of shuffling his peas around on his plate. "I don't want to scare her off."

She elbowed him in his side. "I doubt you will. We've all known for ages that Hannah is wild about you."

A bright flush crept over Neville's cheeks. "I'll send her an owl today. Thanks, Hermione." Dropping his flatware in a clatter, Neville shoved off from the table and headed off to what Hermione could only guess was the Owlery.

Most of the students had cleared out, and at this point, Hermione was the only professor sitting at the High Table. As she finished her meal alone, a pair of ghosts floated overhead, deep in conversation.

"Why, hello, Hermione," called the Fat Friar. "How good to see you today! You're looking quite well."

She waved her greetings at the jovial ghost and his silent companion, Nearly Headless Nick. If Hermione hadn't seen it herself, she wouldn't have believed it.

Ghosts could blush.


End file.
